


Gravity Rises: Spectre Theatre [Episode Three]

by BrightnessWings19



Series: Gravity Rises Season Two [3]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gravity Rises, Episode Three, Gen, Season/Series 02, Sorophora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 02:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightnessWings19/pseuds/BrightnessWings19
Summary: When Ford falls ill, Mabel takes over fixing the laptop. Bill Cipher, however, has a growing interest in the Pines family, and he'll do anything to stop them.





	1. Chapter 1

Blind Lincoln’s feet scuffed against the stone as he walked swiftly down the hall. The Northwest boy wasn’t here — _again_ — and there was a townsperson waiting to be relieved of their memories. Lincoln had gotten better at being patient over the years, but not by that much. Gideon was trying his goodwill.

A voice drifted down the hall.

“Please, Bill, let me go. It’s the only way to get rid of her!”

Blind Lincoln paused just before rounding the corner. She was out of her room. Was she talking to nothing again?

He took a quick breath and stepped out to see her.

Pacifica Pleasure sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the wall as if she was listening intently. Her eyes were wide and pleading and unblinking. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers rubbing at the lilac fabric of the simple dress she was wearing. A silver necklace with a large crescent moon pendant swung gently on its chain around her neck.

“You know I’m grateful,” she said to nothing, “but — ” Then she saw him. “Oh, Blind Lincoln.”

“Miss Pleasure,” Lincoln said. “I do recall asking you to stay in your rooms unless I invite you out.”

She blinked up at him and didn’t respond for a few seconds. “But it’s so stuffy in there. Why can’t I come out?”

“Because you’re a surprise, remember? We don’t want anyone to see you before it’s time.”

Pacifica sighed and glanced sideways at something.

Right. Her conversation. “Who are you talking to?” Blind Lincoln forced himself to keep his voice calm and level. Pacifica talked to a lot of people that weren’t there.

“Bill, of course,” Pacifica said with a smile. “Don’t you see him?”

Before Lincoln could answer, Pacifica looked back at the empty space next to her. “Oh, right,” she said. “I forgot.”

Blind Lincoln took a step forward. “Pacifica,” he said gently.

She turned to him sharply. The crescent necklace glinted, along with triangle-shaped earrings hidden in her loose hair.

“Bill can only talk to people in their sleep, remember?”

“Not me,” Pacifica said, smiling. “Bill can talk to me whenever he wants. It’s just part of how I’m special. Right, Bill?”

Blind Lincoln grimaced. Continuous communication with Bill was a bad idea, whether or not he was real. “Pacifica — ”

“Bill says he’ll show up in your dreams tonight and prove that he’s talking to me, if you want.”

“It’s alright,” Lincoln replied. “I believe you.” He glanced back down the passageway and decided the townsperson could wait.

He approached Pacifica and sat next to her, folding his legs beneath his purple robes. “What were you talking about? I hope you don’t mind me interrupting.”

Pacifica looked from Lincoln to the space where Bill apparently was. “Oh, he’s gone now. I was just asking him to let me get revenge on the Pines. I’ve asked him a lot.”

“And he keeps saying no?”

She nodded. “He says he’s going to take care of it himself. Soon. But I keep trying to tell him, only I can do it. Only I can kill Mabel. If anyone else does it, she’ll never go away.”

“Who? Mabel?”

Another nod. “She’s always here. Always.”

“Where?”

Pacifica raised her finger and pointed behind Lincoln.

He turned, but once again saw nothing. Just the shadowy corner of the passageway.

“I can’t see her,” he admitted. “What is she doing?”

Pacifica looked away and rubbed at her arm. “Just standing there, for now. It’s at night that she tries to hurt me. Bill keeps her away. His beautiful light blinds her.”

Inwardly, Blind Lincoln winced. But he kept his face impassive.

“But Bill can’t get rid of her personally. I have to kill her. The real Mabel — not this spirit that she sends. If anyone else does it, I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Maybe it will,” Lincoln said. “Is Bill planning on killing her?”

“He didn’t say,” she said. “But I don’t think so. She’s on the Wheel, you know.”

Lincoln’s eyes widened. “She is?”

Pacifica tilted her head. “Well, of course. All the Pines are.”

Was that why Bill forbade Lincoln from going near the Pines? Lincoln didn’t know as much about the Cipher Wheel as he wanted. Just that he was on it and that Bill was careful with his “Symbols.” Perhaps going near the Pines would mess up the Wheel somehow.

“So he probably doesn’t want her dead,” Pacifica continued. “But I do. I _need_ her dead, Blind Lincoln.”

Surprisingly, there was little anger in her face. Instead, she looked up at Lincoln with wide, fearful eyes, and her voice shook slightly. She had demons tormenting her, and she honestly believed that killing an innocent girl was the only way to stop it.

Lincoln put a hand on Pacifica’s shoulder, his throat thick with confused sympathy. “Maybe there’s another way. Besides Bill, besides killing. Another way to get rid of her.”

Pacifica peered up at him for a moment before looking away and shaking her head. “No. There is no other way. I thought you would understand.”

“I don’t understand,” Lincoln said. “But I’m trying. I want you to be a strong leader, one that doesn’t depend on Bill or hide from spirits.”

His mind wouldn’t let the irony of that statement pass. To be the leader of the Order was to be inexplicably tied to Bill Cipher and his plans.

“Bill makes me strong,” Pacifica said.

Lincoln didn’t know how to respond. _This_ he understood. He understood too much.

“Here,” he said, trying to meet Pacifica’s eyes. She wouldn’t oblige him. She wrapped the chain of her crescent moon necklace around and around her fingers.

He sighed and stood up. “Would you like to join me for a memory session?”

Now she looked up. “I thought I wasn’t allowed to go the memory sessions.”

She wasn’t allowed to cross paths with Gideon, though she didn’t know that. But Gideon wasn’t here today.

“Today you are,” Lincoln replied. “After all, if you’re going to lead someday, you’ll need to know the details about our most important duty.”

He held his hand out for her. She took it and stood.

They started down the hallway.

Bill was right. Lincoln did like Pacifica more than he thought he would. He liked the idea of being a guiding hand, of teaching someone about what he knew. But even so, his stomach churned at the thought of leaving someone else to be Bill’s right-hand man. It wasn’t exactly an enviable job.

He glanced sideways at Pacifica. Though if she was talking to Bill while she was awake, maybe it was enviable to her. Which thought made Lincoln shudder.

He wanted to help her. He just didn’t know how.


	2. Chapter 2

“So then Natalie dared Tambry to _climb_ the thing, and — you listening, Mabel-kid?”

“What?” Mabel looked up with wide eyes. “Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, Robbie, I was just. . .”

“Thinking about the laptop again?” Robbie asked.

Mabel ducked her head. “Well, yeah.”

She and Robbie sat in the Mystery Museum gift shop, watching the last of today’s customers in the last of today’s sunlight. The sunset was beautiful over the mountains tonight. It had distracted Mabel for a moment. So had Robbie’s stories. But. . .

“I’m sure Mr. Pines will let you go work with him soon,” Robbie reassured her.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mabel said, twirling a little bit on the globe that she sat on. Ford had a big globe in the gift shop that had become her newest perch. “I know why he doesn’t want me around, I mean, he needs to concentrate, and I’ll probably break something, and, you know. A-and he wasn’t mean about it, not like he has been before.”

“It’s okay to be bummed, though,” Robbie said.

“Yeah.” She was a lot more than bummed, but she didn’t feel like talking about it.

They lapsed into silence, looking over at Dipper as he helped out an indecisive customer.

“You and your brother coming has been the best thing to ever happen in this place.”

Mabel nearly fell off her globe. The comment came out of nowhere, and Robbie said it so casually. “I-I — really?”

“Yeah, man. I don’t have to deal with obnoxious customers anymore, because your brother does it. And you hang out with me when my friends aren’t allowed to come visit me during work. Plus Ford is less grumpy than ever since you started going on adventures with him.”

Mabel’s face went red. “Well, i-it’s fun hanging out with you,” she stammered.

“Thanks. What is that laptop, anyway?”

Ford had asked them not to tell Robbie about Stanley or the portal, for “security reasons.” Mabel bit her lip. “Oh, it’s, um, something old of Ford’s, but he doesn’t remember what’s on it.” That was basically the truth. “So he’s fixing it up.”

“And you guys found it down in his mysterious bunker?”

Mabel nodded. That wasn’t the only thing they’d found, but she didn’t want to think about that right now.

“Dipper told me you have a grappling hook now. And that you used it to fight off some monsters.”

Mabel blushed again. “I tried,” she said. “My aim’s not very good. And it knocks me off balance every time I shoot it.”

“I’m sure you’ll get better with practice,” Robbie said. “It sounds like something that can really come in handy.” He flipped on the microphone next to the cash register. “Ladies and gents, the Mystery Museum will be closing in five minutes. Come buy your stuff and clear out.” He grinned at Mabel. “Mr. Pines doesn’t like me talking like that over the speaker.”

“I doubt he can hear you in his lab. Or hear anything, really.” Mabel grinned back.

It wasn’t much of a joke, but Robbie still laughed. “You Pines and your attention spans are crazy. Right now you’re all over the place trying not to think about the laptop, but if you were working on the laptop, you would have this laser focus.”

“Yeah,” Mabel said. “Dipper’s the same. And I guess Ford is too.”

“I like it,” Robbie said, leaning back and putting his feet up on the counter. He had to put them down a moment later when a tourist came up to buy something.

Mabel closed her eyes and once again guided her thoughts away from the laptop. Just enjoy this, Mabel. Enjoy being with Robbie, here in the gift shop, with the evening sun warming your back through the window. Enjoy these quiet moments.

It worked. For a minute or two.

“Ladies and gents, the Mystery Museum is now closed.” Robbie drew out the last word, swinging the microphone as he looked around for lingering customers.

“Everyone’s gone!” Dipper skipped up to the checkout counter and jumped up onto it. Mabel held on to the globe as it wobbled beneath her. “Man, that guy had a really hard time choosing between the puma shirt and the panther shirt.”

“Tyler’s always like that,” Robbie said. “Thanks for taking care of him, Dip.”

“No problem! They really were both great shirts. Where does Ford get his merch?”

“Melody would be the one to ask about that,” Robbie said. “Honestly, how Ford stayed in business before hiring her is a mystery to me.”

“He’s not really a people person,” Mabel agreed.

“Melody does everything around here,” Dipper said. “Does she have magical powers that let her be two places at once or something?”

Robbie shrugged. “It’s Gravity Rises. I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

The Employee’s Only door swung open.

“There’s the woman herself!” Robbie leaned forward onto his elbows. “Watcha need, Mels?”

“Hiya Robbie,” Melody said. “Twins. Where’s Ford?”

“Lab,” Mabel said. “Still.” Like he’d been for the past three days.

“Without you?”

“He said I could help later.” Like he’d said for the past three days.

Melody leaned against the doorjamb. “That man. I don’t think he even slept last night.”

“That means he’s close, right?” Mabel asked.

“That means he’s sleep-deprived. He’ll get himself sick.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen him like this. Which is mostly a good thing, but just the same. He can’t just run himself to the ground.”

Robbie shook his head. “Gotta love that Pines attention span.” He stood up and stretched. “Well, I better get to rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?” Dipper asked. “For what?”

“Oh, for a show,” Robbie said. “I’m doing the sound for the Gravity Falls Theatre Group. They’re putting on _The Spectre of the Theatre_.”

Mabel perked up. “Is that the one about the specter that lives in the theater?”

There was a moment of silence as she realized what she said. Then everyone burst out laughing.

“You know — what I mean — ” Mabel said between laughs. “And there’s that girl, that opera singer he falls in love with, and it’s a musical, and — oh yeah, and there’s a chandelier that falls right on top of the audience!”

“You like theatre?” Robbie asked.

“Not really,” Mabel admitted. “I just like ghosts. I mean, I love theaters, like the buildings. Because they usually have ghosts.”

“The theater here in Gravity Falls definitely is a good place for ghosts,” Robbie said. “And _Spectre of the Theatre_ is a pretty good ghost story. Tambry’s starring in it. That’s how I got roped in.” He moved around the checkout counter, brushing Mabel’s arm as she passed. His touch made her shiver, as usual. “It’s my first rehearsal, so I’d better not be late. Are you three okay to close up?”

“Sure,” said Dipper. “Have fun!”

They waved at Robbie as he left the Museum.

Melody sighed. “Alright, kids, let’s close up, and then we’ll go find your uncle and talk some sense into him.”

Mabel grimaced slightly, but hid it from Melody. She knew the older woman was concerned, but Mabel thought that Ford was doing the most necessary — and interesting — work of all of them. Couldn’t Melody see that getting Stanley back was worth a few days without sleep? Mabel only wished she could be helping instead of dusting off merchandise or picking up trash left by tourists.

She knew why she couldn’t, though. She knew she wouldn’t be any help.

Mabel knew she was useless.

Melody assigned the twins their chores and started counting the till. Mabel decided to head into the Hall of Mysteries, where the tours took place. It shared a wall with Ford’s lab, and would be empty. She could clean up in there without anyone noticing that —

“Hey Mabes, you okay?”

— That she was feeling down. “I’m fine, Dip,” she said, trying to make her voice sound light. She usually confided in him, but. . . well, he’d just tell her that she was wrong. That she wasn’t useless. And she didn’t want to hear that right now.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m just gonna go clean up in the Hall of Mysteries.”

“Okay.” Dipper didn’t look convinced, but thankfully he let her go. Mabel slipped through the side door that led from the gift shop to the tour hall and let out a relieved breath, glad to be alone for a while.

Talking with Robbie had been a nice distraction, but now the thoughts crept their way back into Mabel’s mind. Ford had promised that they would work together on rescuing Stanley, but he said he needed time alone to fix the laptop. Mabel tried to understand — neither she nor Dipper were good with machinery — she would just be an annoyance — she hadn’t helped much down in the bunker, anyway — but it still hurt.

Did it really hurt because of Ford, though? Or because of her own incompetence?

“Face it,” she muttered to herself. “Ford realized how little you have to offer. He’s not trying to be mean, he’s just being practical.”

Mabel stayed in the Hall of Mysteries as long as she could, but one could only dust off the Platypeople — fake half-human, half-platypus fossils — so many times before wanting to hurl at the sight of them. So she headed back into the gift shop.

She heard Dipper before she saw him. “So I told Amanda about Candy’s crush on me, and the weird stuff she did to show it, and she told me that it was normal. I guess I can act weird when I have a crush too. I still kinda feel bad that I don’t like Candy back. I mean, it’s really hard to be friend-zoned, but I just can’t be in the romance zone with Candy, you know? Sometimes I wish I could, just to make her feel better. But then — oh, hey, Mabes.”

“Hi,” she said. “You guys done in here?”

Dipper was sitting on the checkout counter while Melody slid bills of money into the till. She closed it. “Yep, all done.” Melody looked between the twins. “Why don’t we go see what Ford is up to?”

“Sounds good to me!” Dipper hopped down from the counter.

_Slam!_

Mabel jumped as the Employee’s Only door crashed open. Standing in the doorway was Ford, his hands braced against the doorjamb, his hair wild and disheveled, his chest heaving.

“It’s working,” was all he said.

Mabel’s heart stopped beating for a second, then made up for it by thumping faster.

“Really? Let’s go!” Dipper ran past her, grabbing her hand as he passed and pulling her along. It only took a few steps before Mabel’s legs kicked in, and soon enough she was the one pulling Dipper.

Mabel was the first one to make it to the lab, with Dipper on her heels. Melody and Ford weren’t far behind.

The laptop was on a polished wooden desk, surrounded by tools and metal scraps and nuts and bolts and screws and cords and the occasional spray of crumbs. A leaning tower of paper plates had been pushed to the back of the desk. Everything else in the lab had been pushed aside, creating a halo around the laptop and its desk.

Ford made his way around the twins and led the group to the desk. “It should boot up now. I wanted you all to be here for it.”

That made Mabel feel a little better. It was something, right? Ford really did care. He took the time to make sure everyone was there for the restoration of the laptop.

“If this works,” Ford said, “we should be able to get started on the portal tomorrow.”

“Oh no, sir,” Melody said. “No matter what happens in this room, you are going to sleep right after.”

Ford turned an irate eye on her. “Melody — ”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don’t care if you press that power button and the whole thing explodes. You haven’t been taking care of yourself. Half the food on those plates hasn’t been touched!”

“I’m fine,” Ford said tersely. He swayed a little as he said it.

“You are not fine. Look at those bags under your eyes!”

Ford pursed his lips. “Melody, you are not — ”

“I _am_ your legal guardian, Stanford Pines. If you’re not taking care of yourself, it’s my job to take care of you.” Melody stared fiercely at Ford for a solid ten seconds. He said nothing, but eventually his gaze slid away from hers.

Melody smiled. “Good. Now,” she said cheerfully, “let’s turn on this laptop!”

They all gathered around the desk. Ford reached out and grabbed a power cord in one hand, resting the other on the power button. There was a still second of silence, and then Ford took a deep breath.

He plugged in the laptop.

No sparks or explosions. Mabel found herself holding her breath.

“Here goes.” Ford pressed down on the power button.

The laptop started to whir.

“Yes!” Mabel shouted. She grabbed onto Dipper’s arm, holding tight as she stared at the laptop.

The screen lit up, and blocky green words flashed into view: **SYSTEM STARTUP**. A loading bar, also bright green, started filling in box by box.

The Pines watched it hungrily. There was total silence, save the whirring and beeping of the laptop as it came back to life.

The loading bar finished its trek across the screen and was replaced by a green grid that morphed into a new screen. **WELCOME** , it said on the top. Beneath it was an upside-down triangle surrounded by four circles, with a fifth one inside.

“That’s the portal!” Mabel said. “The upside-down triangle with the circle inside and those pillar things around it! This is it!”

She and Dipper cheered.

_BZZT!_

The laptop screen changed with the startling noise. **//UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS FORBIDDEN//** , read bright red letters that took up the entire screen.

Then it went back to green. Two words stretched across the screen above a dashed line.

**ENTER PASSWORD.**

Mabel’s heart fell.

“Oh,” said Dipper.

Ford’s head fell onto the desk with a _thud_.

“Nope,” said Melody. She reached out and closed the laptop. “Tomorrow.” She gave Ford a stern look, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Mmph,” said Ford.

Melody sighed and put her hands on Ford’s shoulder. “That’s it,” she said, easing him off the desk. “Let’s get you to your room. C’mon.”

She led Ford from the room. Mabel and Dipper glanced at each other before following.

Ford protested the entire way. “Melody. . . I’m not tired. . .” His words were mumbled; Mabel could only pick out half of them.

“You’ve done a lot of great work,” Melody soothed. “It’s time for a break.”

“I have to. . . keep working. . .”

They made it to his bedroom. Ford bumped into the doorjamb before Melody guided him through.

Mabel watched from the hall as Melody helped Ford lay down. He struggled weakly against her grip. “I can’t just. . . stop working. . . Stanley. . .”

“Later,” Melody said.

“But. . . I’m not. . . tired. . .”

Ford’s eyes drooped shut. His breathing settled.

He was asleep.

“Not tired my foot,” said Melody fondly.


	3. Chapter 3

Mabel bolted awake. Morning. It was morning. She took a few seconds to orient herself — cold, sparkling sunlight streamed through the triangular attic window — before throwing the covers off and standing up. A shiver traveled up her spine as her feet protested against the chilly wood floor. She got dressed, pulling socks and boots over her cold feet. Then she ran downstairs.

At the base of the stairs, she nearly collided with Melody, who was passing the stairs on the way to the kitchen. “Good morning, Mabel,” Melody said.

“Morning,” Mabel replied. “Where’s Ford? I want to help him with — ”

But Melody was shaking her head. “Ford isn’t working on the laptop today.”

Mabel stared. “Wh-what?”

“He’s on bedrest.”

Mabel knew what that really meant: Melody was forcing him to stay away from the laptop. “But Melody!”

“No.” Melody shook her head firmly. “He’s come down with a cold. A bad one. One that he wouldn’t have gotten if he hadn’t stayed up for so long.”

Mabel couldn’t believe this. “He’s trying to rescue Stanley! You can’t just — ”

“Mabel.” Melody knelt down so she was at eye level with her. “I want to rescue Stanley as much as the rest of you. But if we kill ourselves in the process, we’ll be no good to him.”

Mabel looked away.

Melody sighed and stood up. “Ford says he used to do this kind of thing all the time. But he forgets that he’s not a young man anymore. It’s been thirty years since he’s done anything this strenuous.”

“Can I go talk to him?”

“Do you want to catch his cold?” Melody waited for her question to answer itself. “I’m going to go get him some breakfast.”

Mabel frowned. “Won’t you catch the cold if you do that?”

Melody laughed. “Oh, Mabel. I don’t get sick.” And with that, she went on towards the kitchen.

Mabel stood frozen on the stairs. Now what? She wanted so badly to help with the laptop — she figured even she could help decode the password. Even if she was just typing whatever Ford told her to. Now. . . now nobody was going to be working on the laptop?

No. No, Mabel had to do something. Ford would expect her to pick up where he left off, right? Or at the very least, he’d be pleasantly surprised.

Mabel stepped off the staircase and padded down the hall towards the lab. A quick glance over her shoulder into the kitchen confirmed that Melody wasn’t looking.

As she passed Ford’s room, she hesitated. Should she ask him? Tell him that it was okay, that she had it? Or would he just tell her that she couldn’t handle it?

She laid a hand on the doorknob and eased the door open.

A soft white noise filled the room. It seemed to be coming from a small machine on the floor that sprayed gentle mist into the air. Mabel couldn’t see Ford, only a bundle of blankets on the bed. She could hear him, though; his rhythmic breathing carried above the white noise. Asleep, probably.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said softly, not sure if he could hear her. “I’m going to try to crack the password, okay? I’ll take the laptop and see if I can find anything in the Journal o-or something. So you don’t have to worry about it.” She took a step back. “Feel better soon.”

She closed the door behind her, feeling a little better. Then she continued down the hall.

The door to the lab was unlocked, thankfully. The laptop was still there, surrounded by the clutter of the desk, waiting for someone to take it.

So Mabel did.

She found the third Journal and the black light pen on a different desk and nabbed those too. With the laptop under one arm and the Journal under the other, she started for the door.

Wait.

Melody.

If she went back that way, Melody would catch her for sure, and probably stop her before she even started. Nowhere in the Museum would be safe, even if she could make it up to the attic.

The lab had three doors. The one she came from, one that led to the Hall of Mysteries, and one that led outside. Her eyes flicked to the last one.

She could go the library. It would have dictionaries and maybe even code-breaking books. No one would find her unless they were looking really hard.

Mabel snuck out the side door.

The frigid morning air hit her as soon as she opened the door, but she pressed her lips together and stepped out onto the snow. Closed and locked the door behind her. Headed for town.

“Hey Mabes! Heads up!”

A snowball hit her back.

Mabel whirled around. Dipper was standing by the side of the house, a pom-pom hat on his head and snow on his mittens. “Dipper! Scrabdoodle!”

Dipper tilted his head slightly. “Scrabdoodle?”

“It’s what Ford’s assistant used to say.”

“Did you find that out from the laptop?”

Mabel tried to move it behind her back. “Um, no. . .”

“Melody said nobody was going to work on the laptop today.”

“Melody is being overprotective,” Mabel shot back. “Just because Ford is sick doesn’t mean I can’t help. I’m going to the library to find a book on breaking codes.”

“You’re going to the library to hide from Melody, you mean,” Dipper said.

Mabel glared at him.

He shrugged apologetically, but then looked at her seriously. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Not you too!” Mabel moaned. She turned and started stomping off.

“Mabel, wait.” Dipper jogged after her and touched her shoulder. She turned back. “Can I come with you, then?” he asked. “Come and help?”

“Come and keep watch on me, you mean,” she said grumpily.

“Maybe. But two twins are better than one, right?”

She looked at him warily. “You’re not going to tell Melody I have the laptop?”

“Nah, I’m not a tattletale.” He frowned. “Unless someone is about to hurt themselves. You’re not gonna stay up all night and get sick like Ford, are you?”

“No,” Mabel said. “I’ll be fine.”

“In that case, let’s go crack ourselves a code!” Dipper bounded through the snow away from the Museum.

Mabel followed. It was obvious Dipper was just tagging along to keep tabs on her, but she had to admit it would be nice to have his help. And he was pretty good at keeping her from going crazy. She’d probably need that.

So she let him tag along. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be able to tell on her while he was with her.

The library was on the other side of town, but in a town so small, that didn’t mean very much. Mabel spent the walk thinking up possible passwords and telling Dipper what she knew about Ford’s assistant.

“His name is Fiddleford McGucket. I think I can figure out how to spell it. The laptop password had eight letters, right? McGucket is eight letters, I think. We can try that.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“He was a strange person,” Mabel said, repeating what Ford had told her when she had said the same thing. “Ford just said he was smart and that he worked with him and Stanley back in the day. The Journal talks about him a little bit, but I’ll have to look again. And look with the black light. I haven’t been able to do that yet.”

She kept trying to come up with passwords. “McGucket. Maybe something to have to do with the Journals? Hey, Ford’s full name is eight letters long.”

“Mabes. . .” Dipper grimaced as she turned to him. “What if there are numbers? Or what if it’s gibberish or code?”

Mabel stiffened. “Let’s just try what we can think of,” she said tightly.

Dipper fell silent, and Mabel listened to her boots crunching softly in the packed snow on the road.

“Sorry,” Dipper said. “It’s already overwhelming enough, huh?”

Mabel told herself to just stay quiet. If she started talking, _everything_ would come out.

Fortunately, the library was just ahead. Mabel forced herself to feel excited again and took the steps two at a time, Dipper on her heels.

It took a while for them to find a table away from everyone and get settled. Mabel looked around for computers as they passed through the library, but there didn’t seem to be any. She grimaced. Hopefully nonfiction books were sorted by section so she wouldn’t have to ask a librarian.

“You want me to go ask a librarian about code-breaking books while you get started?” Dipper asked.

“You read my mind,” Mabel said in relief. Librarians had always scared her — not because they weren’t nice or anything. She just hated asking for help.

Dipper grinned. “That’s what twins are for.”

“Thanks, Dip. Grab a dictionary, too. One that sorts words by length, if you can.”

He wandered off.

Mabel set the laptop down on the table with a deep sigh. Safe at last.

She pried the lid open and booted it up.

The laptop’s whirs and beeps filled the silent library air, and Mabel bit her lip, looking around. The library was mostly empty, though, and she couldn’t see anyone from her table.

_BZZT!_

**//UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS FORBIDDEN//**

**ENTER PASSWORD.**

Mabel narrowed her eyes at the computer. That _BZZT_ sound was going to really get on her nerves.

“Well, might as well start with the most obvious,” she said to herself.

She started typing.

 **P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D** , she typed.

_BZZT!_

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

 **S-T-A-N-F-O-R-D**.

_BZZT!_

**M-C-G-U-C-K-E-T.**

_BZZT!_

“Urgh,” Mabel said back to it. “Do you have a mute button?”

The laptop didn’t reply.

**J-O-U-R-N-A-L-3.**

_BZZT!_

**J-O-U-R-N-A-L-2.**

_BZZT!_

**J-O-U-R-N-A-L-1.**

_BZZT!_

Mabel slammed her hands onto the keyboard.

**E-R-G-J-E-O-G-H.**

_BZZT!_

Well, it was worth a shot.

“How many letters does Fiddleford have?” she asked out loud. “Fiddle-ford. Ten. Hmm.”

**F-I-D-D-L-E-F-O.**

_BZZT!_

**D-D-L-E-F-O-R-D.**

_BZZT!_

**F-D-D-L-F-O-R-D.**

_BZZT!_

She kept trying variations of “Fiddleford” until Dipper returned with a stack of books. “How goes it?”

“Nothing yet. Did you find a dictionary sorted by word length?”

“Yep!” He flipped through it. “Okay. . . it says here that there are seven-point-two million eight-letter words in the English language.”

Mabel stared at him.

Dipper grinned feebly back at her. “You type, I read?”

“Mmph,” said Mabel, lowering her head to the smooth wood of the desk.

“Mabes?”

She mumbled into the wood.

“What?”

“I just wanted to be useful,” she said, sitting back up. “But this is going to take _forever_.”

“Useful?” Dipper repeated. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Mabel said. “You found the laptop, Ford fixed it up. . . all I did in the bunker was get knocked unconscious and hallucinate.”

Dipper frowned. “Hallucinate?”

“Either Gideon Northwest magically followed us down into the bunker, or I hallucinated him being there. I don’t know,” she added quickly, mentally kicking herself for mentioning Gideon. It probably _wasn’t_ a hallucination, but. . . he hadn’t taken the Journal. He hadn’t done anything wrong. No need to tell anyone, right? She kept talking, trying to fix her mistake. “Let’s just — get started, I guess.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Dipper said gently.

“I want to,” she said. “I want to show Ford that I — that _we_ — can help.”

“Okay,” said Dipper. “Then let’s get started.” He set his dictionary on the table and smiled at her.

She smiled back. “I’ll type, you read.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dipper and Mabel spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon at the library, flipping through dictionaries and code books and the Journal and typing in whatever they could find. Dipper made a herculean effort to stay focused, but it wasn’t long before he wanted to jump out of his chair, shove everything to the floor, and cartwheel out onto the street. He figured he should get a medal for sitting this still for so long.

Finally, Dipper’s stomach growled almost louder than the _BZZT_ sound, and he decided enough was enough.

“C’mon, Mabes,” he pleaded. “We gotta get some food. We can come back tomorrow.”

She blinked at him. “But there’s so much of the day left.”

“If we do it all day today, we won’t have any energy for it tomorrow,” Dipper pointed out.

“ _You_ might not,” Mabel muttered.

Dipper stared her down. “Mabel. Come on.”

She sighed. “Fine.” She closed the laptop. “We’ll go get some food. But we have to find somewhere to hide the laptop from Melody, somewhere secure. We can’t leave it here.”

“I don’t get why we have to hide it from her,” Dipper said as he gathered up the books they’d found. He didn’t want to hide things — especially from someone as caring as Melody.

“We might not have to, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

They grabbed everything off the table and went to go put the library books away. “Okay, fine,” Dipper said, sliding one of the dictionaries back into its slot. “I’ll go into the Museum first and make sure the coast is clear, and we’ll take the laptop and Journal up to our room. Unless Ford is feeling better,” he added. “Then we’ll give them back to him.”

“Right. Thanks.”

The twins finished putting the books away. They were headed for the door when Dipper saw her.

The girl stood at an angle, so she could only see half her face. Her eyes, which glinted green in the sunlight that drifted in through the high windows, were focused on the poster she was hanging on the library bulletin board. Her tongue protruded out a little from her small lips, and a pencil stuck out from behind her ear, brushing against a cream-colored cloth hat perched on her head. Her long hair framed her face in black, but became lighter and lighter as it trailed down her back, until it was a bright blonde.

She was adorable.

“Dipper?”

Dipper realized he had stopped walking. Mabel was at the library door, her hand on the knob.

“Look at her,” he said.

Mabel rolled her eyes, walked over to him, and looked at the girl. “Great. She’s beautiful. Let’s go.”

Dipper didn’t exactly think that was fair — hadn’t he spent most of the day helping Mabel with what she wanted to do? And now he couldn’t even stop to look at a pretty girl?

“I’m going to go talk to her,” Dipper said, partly out of a sense of injustice.

“Dipper,” Mabel whined.

“Look!” Dipper pointed. “Look at her poster!”

The poster was mostly black with neon blue highlights and blue-white smoke that spelled out _The Spectre of the Theatre._

“Huh,” Mabel said. Dipper glanced at her just in time to see her turn red, and he guessed what she was thinking: the poster sort of looked like Gideon Northwest.

“We have a friend in that show,” Dipper said, deciding not to needle his twin about Gideon for now. “It’s a perfect conversation starter! C’mon.”

“Wait, Dip — what about Amanda?”

It was a desperate ploy to stop him, and Dipper knew it. “Oh, come on. I can talk to whoever I want. Amanda and I are just friends.”

“Friends with benefits,” Mabel muttered. Dipper pretended not to hear her and started towards the ombre-haired girl. 

“Hi there!” he called. The girl turned and looked around in surprise, and Dipper noticed that her lilac shirt said “Carrying the Banner” in blocky white letters. Her eyes met Dipper’s, and the realization that he was talking to her dawned in her eyes.

“Hi!” he said again. “I’m Dipper. Those are some cool posters.”

She smiled. “Oh, thanks. I didn’t make them. I’m just putting them up. My name’s Abigail.”

“Hi, Abigail. Can I call you Abby?” Nickname basis was always good to establish early.

“Gabby is my nickname,” she said. “Is. . . Dipper. . . ?”

“A nickname? Yep! I get it from my birthmark, do you wanna see?”

“Sure.”

He lifted his bangs and grinned at her. “Pretty cool, huh? It’s like I have some magical destiny.”

She laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” She waited a beat before gesturing up to the poster. “The Gravity Rises Theatre Group is putting on _The Spectre of the Theatre_. It opens in a couple weeks. You should come.”

“Absolutely,” Dipper said. “We’re friends with the sound guy, actually. Robbie Corduroy, do you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. I met him just last night. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, he’s cool.”

Dipper glanced at Mabel, who was shuffling closer to them, in his periphery. “Oh, hey, this is my twin sister Mabel.”

“Hi,” Gabby and Mabel said at the same time. Mabel bit her lip, but Gabby just laughed. She had a nice, soft laugh. Dipper liked it.

“It’s nice to meet you guys,” Gabby said. “I’ve gotta go hang up more posters around town.”

“I can help!” Dipper offered.

“Dipper,” Mabel hissed. Dipper turned to her, but she didn’t continue, just looked between him and Gabby.

“Just a minute,” Dipper said, smiling at Abigail before following Mabel around a nearby bookshelf.

“I thought you were starving,” Mabel said once they were alone.

“Well, yeah, but. . . this is an opportunity to make a new friend.”

“Don’t you have enough friends?”

Dipper frowned. “Well, I definitely don’t have too many. Anyway, you don’t have to come. I’ll just meet you back home.”

“What about checking if the coast is clear?”

“Oh.” Dipper had forgotten about that. “Um. . .”

“Can we please just go home?”

“Mabel,” Dipper said, “I was here all morning with you. Can’t you spend some time being with me?”

“But I won’t be with you, because you’re going to be with Abigail.”

He looked at her firmly. “I’m going to go help Abigail hang up her posters. You’re welcome to tag along, though. And when we’re done, I’ll help you smuggle in the laptop.”

“Dipper,” she whined. But he stared her down until she sighed and dropped his gaze. “Fine. I’ll come along. Since you did help me and all.”

Dipper smiled. “Great!” He almost thanked her, but stopped himself. It’s not like he was asking permission.

He went around the bookshelf and back to Gabby. “We’re coming with you! If you want us to.”

“Of course!” Gabby said with a smile. “Extra hands would be great.”

Dipper held out his empty hands and grinned back at her.

 Gabby handed him the posters, and they headed out of the library, Dipper and Gabby walking together and Mabel trailing behind, still holding the laptop and the Journal close to her chest as if Gabby might steal them. Dipper decided that he would keep an eye on his sister but otherwise try not to worry about her. After all, he was making a new friend over here.

“So, what does your t-shirt mean?” Dipper asked when they were on the library stairs.

Gabby’s eyes lit up, and Dipper smiled inwardly. Always ask about someone’s graphic t-shirt.

“Well,” Gabby began, “there’s this amazing musical. . .”

They ambled down the street. Dipper kicked up snow and smiled sideways at Gabby as she talked animatedly about this musical that she loved. Apparently boys who could dance and sing at the same time were considered attractive. Dipper took note of this and idly wondered if Mabel would judge him if he started taking dancing lessons.

“And my hat is part of it, too,” Gabby was saying, reaching up to touch her felt cap. “They all wear hats this style.”

Dipper loved how she talked with her hands, gesturing with them and rubbing them together and flinging them out. And the musical she was talking about sounded great too.

Before long, they reached the town notice board, a snow-strewn cork board that stood in the tiny town square, surrounded by a few drooping bushes that probably looked prettier in the summer and a statue of some kind of robed saint. The bulletin board bore a few posters and papers that flapped in the wind, including a Missing notice for one of Lazy Susan’s cats and a poster with a picture of Robbie Corduroy and Wendy Valentino that advertised a concert for July 2012 — six months ago.

“Okay, I think we’ll hang two or three up here. Can I have a poster?”

Dipper handed her one, and she pulled a box of push pins out of her pocket.

“So, who do you play in the musical?” Dipper asked as Gabby hung up the poster.

“My character’s called Meg,” Gabby said around a pin she had stuck in her mouth. “She’s the best friend of the main character. Do you know much about the play?”

“Not really. Just that it has ghosts. But Mabel knows some stuff about it.”

Mabel, who was a few feet away, looked up warily at the sound of her name. “Um, yeah. I know a little bit.”

“Well, I’d tell you more, but I don’t want to spoil it.” Gabby took another poster from Dipper. She braced the poster onto the bulletin board with her hand, pulled out a pin. . . and then paused.

“You know. . .” She looked over at Dipper. “We’re short on techies.”

“Techies?” Dipper asked.

“Yeah.” She started putting pins in the corners of the poster. “They’re people who do backstage stuff, like lights and sound and getting actors ready. We need spotlighters, and it’s already tech week. You said you know Robbie, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe. . . maybe do you two want to come spotlight?”

“Sure!” Dipper said.

“No thanks,” Mabel said at the same time.

“We’d love to,” said Dipper, ignoring her. “I mean, _I_ would love to.”

“We’re really busy this week,” said Mabel, giving Dipper a pointed stare.

“We could make do with just one spotlighter, I think,” Gabby said. “You guys can talk about it, but if you decide to do it, come over to the theater at seven tonight. Will that work?”

“Totally,” said Dipper. “I’ll be there.”

Mabel’s stare turned to a glare.

“Probably,” Dipper added. “Anywhere else you need to hang posters?”

“Dipper,” Mabel said in his ear, “I’m starving. Can we go now?”

Gabby heard her. “You guys can go, if you need food.”

“No, we’re fine,” Dipper said.

His stomach growled.

Gabby laughed. “Really, go get food.” She took the rest of the posters from him. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see you tonight? Maybe?”

“Hopefully!”

Dipper grinned and waved Gabby off as she turned and headed towards the Town Hall. As soon as she was out of sight, he turned and frowned at Mabel. “That was rude.”

“I’m hungry.”

He wanted to snap at her that it didn’t matter, but he figured they were both grumpy from the hunger. He sighed. “Fine. Let’s just go back to the Museum.”

The twins trudged back the way they came in silence. Dipper looked around at the snow and ice and building and not Mabel. She always got irritable when she was interrupted on projects like this, and he doubted she’d agree to help Gabby out even without the laptop taking up her attention. But she didn’t have to be so rude about it. Right in front of Gabby, too!

It was a good thing Gabby was so nice. He already couldn’t wait to see her again.

He glanced at Mabel.

She wouldn’t like this. He looked up to see the Mystery Museum poking out from the trees. They were almost home. He’d better just say it now.

“I’m going to take the spotlighting job,” he said.

It took her a full four seconds before she responded. She blinked, as if surprised to hear his voice. “Oh, um — what?”

“I’m going to help out at the theater and do the spotlighting thing.”

This time it got through. “Dipper, no way! We have to focus on the laptop right now!”

“Mabel, we can’t just drop everything to work on the laptop, we’ll run ourselves to the ground.”

“You’re just like Melody.”

“Maybe Melody’s right!”

Mabel stopped and whirled on him. “What’s more important, huh? Saving Stanley or going off to play with your new crush?”

The words stung.

“Do you think I don’t care about Stanley?” Dipper said softly.

Mabel paused. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Of _course_ I do!” Dipper exploded. “Of course I care about Stanley! But I also know that I can’t just sit around all day looking at books and codes and passwords. I need to get out and _do_ things, Mabel! Things with other people! I’m sorry I can’t just survive as a hermit like you and Ford, I’m sorry I have things as trivial as crushes, but I can’t just — I need this! I’ve been following you around all winter and doing mystery stuff for _you_. Can’t I do something for _me_ for once?”

Mabel stared at him. He took huge breaths and stared back.

“Fine,” she said. “Do whatever you want. But _I’m_ going to do something _important_.”

They had reached the front porch of the Museum. Mabel turned and stomped inside.

Dipper watched her go and almost called after her. Wait, he almost said, what if Melody sees the laptop? But he stopped himself. _Let_ Melody catch her. _Let_ Melody take it away. They’d only been working on it for half a day and she was already obsessive.

He sat down on the front porch steps, ignoring the hunger gnawing at him. He didn’t want to follow Mabel inside yet.

Maybe she was right. Maybe what he wanted wasn’t important. But it sure felt important to him. Why couldn’t she see that?

Maybe he should just forget about —

No.

No, he was going to do it. He was going to go help out with _The Spectre of the Theatre_. Mabel couldn’t see just how much he’d done for her this winter. He was taking some time for himself. He was going to make friends with Gabby and the other actors and spend some time with Robbie and do _not_ Mabel Mystery Things.

He looked out across the snow-covered lawn and sighed. “I need my own time,” he said to himself.

“The Mystery Twins are on break.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mabel was perched at the top of the stairs when Dipper came back from his first rehearsal.

“I’m home!” he called as the door slammed behind him.

“ _Welcome back!_ ” Melody called from across the house as Dipper hung up his coat.

It wasn’t until he started up the stairs that he saw Mabel, crouched down on the steps and staring at him like a cat.

“Oh. Hi, Mabes.”

She stood up slowly, trying to remember the exact words she’d rehearsed in her head. As usual, she failed.

“Um,” she said. “How was your — thing?”

“Really good, actually. Robbie and I get to wear headsets and talk to each other like secret agents.” He smiled at her, but it was cautious.

“Um. Cool. I, uh.” She swallowed. “Melody says Ford is gonna be down for the count for a few days, maybe even a couple weeks. I went to talk to him, and he says I should keep working on the laptop.”

“That’s great,” said Dipper unenthusiastically.

“But, um, he doesn’t think Melody will like it, so, uh — it would be best if I could go — somewhere else to work on it. Somewhere, um, private.”

Then he got it. She could see it in his eyes.

“Somewhere else. . . like a theater during rehearsals?”

“Y-yeah. Like that.”

A smile started creeping onto his face. “It’s pretty _important_ to have a good place to crack this code, right?”

She felt herself turning red. “Yes,” she said stiffly.

“And it would be pretty _important_ for someone to secure a good place in order for someone else to work on it?”

She gave him a pointed stare. “Don’t pretend you did this for me.”

“Oh, I didn’t. But it sure would be nice of me to share.”

Her face got redder.

“C’mon. . . ask me.”

“I just did.”

“No,” he said. “Really ask me. With a ‘please’ and everything.”

Mabel glared at him without saying anything for a minute. He just smiled smugly back.

She forced down her indignant rage. “Fine,” she said slowly. “Dipper, could I — _please_ — go to the theater with you to — work on the laptop while you — rehearse?”

Dipper’s small smile split into a grin. “Yes, you may. Thank you for asking nicely.”

Mabel gave him a sarcastic curtsy and turned, and flounced away to stop herself from saying anything else. She hurried into the attic and flopped down onto the bed, pulling out the laptop and flipping the lid open. She’d given herself a break to wait for Dipper, but now it was time to get back to it.

Five minutes and fifty _BZZT_ s later, Dipper appeared in the doorway.

“Mabel, do you know what time it is?”

She glanced up at him. Who did he think he was — Mom? “There’s no clock on this thing,” she said irritably.

“It’s late,” Dipper answered. “If you’re going to come to rehearsal with me, you gotta wait until then to work on the laptop, okay?”

“That wasn’t anywhere in the deal!” Mabel retorted.

“If I remember correctly, it’s not a deal, it’s a _favor_. Just — get some sleep, okay? I don’t wanna be up listening to that terrible noise.”

Mabel fixed him with a glare for a solid five seconds before answering. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Dipper’s voice went soft. “I’m just worried about you, is all.”

Great. He was trying to pull the Concerned Brother card. Mabel looked down at the laptop and started idly pressing keys with one finger. “Well, don’t be. I can worry about myself.”

_BZZT!_

She sighed and closed the laptop. “Fine.” She needed a break from the sound anyway. “Good night,” she muttered, storing the laptop under the bed and pulling up the covers. She was still in her clothes.

Luckily Dipper had the sense not to say anything. She listened to the rustling of him changing into pajamas and getting in bed. He turned off the lamp and whispered, “Good night,” into the darkness.

Mabel closed her eyes.

She tried to fall asleep, but she just couldn’t. She couldn’t stop thinking about the laptop, about the portal, about Stanley. She _had_ to figure out the password. Ford was counting on her!

She paused for a moment and listened to Dipper’s steady breathing. He was asleep.

She sat up slowly. She couldn’t sleep, anyway. Maybe she could just work on it for a little while.

She eased the laptop out from under the bed.

A few short minutes later she was out on the balcony in the frigid night air, bundled in a blanket and wishing she had some hot chocolate or something. “It’s fine,” she said to herself. “The cold will keep me focused.”

She set the laptop on the wooden planks and hunkered down next to it, bending down over her knees, completely covered in blanket save her face and one hand.

Then she started typing.

**M-Y-S-T-E-R-Y-M.**

_BZZT!_

**M-Y-M-U-S-E-U-M.**

_BZZT!_

It took her countless wasted minutes of variations on “Mystery Museum” to remember that Ford didn’t even come up with the name until _after_ Stanley disappeared. “ _Ugh!_ ” she whispered hoarsely, banging on the keyboard with her fist.

_BZZT!_

Mabel moaned and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, I hate that _sound_.”

She reached for the Journal, only to realize she’d left it inside.

She moaned again. “Well. Back to the alphabet, then. Where. . . was I. . .”

**A-A-A-A-A-A-B-Q.**

_BZZT!_

“Only two-hundred-and-eight billion possible combinations to go,” Mabel muttered. “And I haven’t even added in _numbers_ yet.”

With _that_ thought came the feeling of crushing despair she’d been staving off all day. “Never mind,” she told herself. “Just keep going.”

**A-A-A-A-A-A-B-R.**

_BZZT!_

She didn’t know how long she worked. She first noticed she was yawning at **A-A-A-A-A-B-A-J** , and she started rubbing her eyes around **A-A-A-A-A-E-K-B.** “I’m only working on this because I can’t sleep anyway,” she reminded herself. If she stopped now she’d just lay awake feeling guilty all night.

**A-A-A-A-A-E-Y-G.**

_BZZT!_

“ _Agh!_ I can’t take this sound anymore!” She started bashing the keyboard with her hands.

“Where — “

_BZZT!_

“ — is — ”

_BZZT!_

“ — the — ”

_BZZT!_

“ — mute — ”

_BZZT!_

“ — button!”

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!_

Mabel moaned and dropped her forehead to the floor. “This is hopeless,” she mumbled into the frozen wood.

She lay there for a moment before forcing her head up and yawning hugely. “Where are you, anyway, McGucket?” she asked the laptop screen. “Didn’t you tell _someone_ your password? Does anyone know but you?”

The wind whistled by, and Mabel shivered, drawing her blanket in closer. But the wind kept at her, and it was getting faster. A freezing blast hit her in the face, and the laptop lid fell shut. “Agh!” Mabel scrambled back into a moonbeam and grimaced. Why was the moon suddenly so bright?

The moon started to rotate, and Mabel sat still as she realized it wasn’t the moon anymore.

It was an eye.

**“I think I know a guy!”**

There was a flash of light and Mabel cried out, screwing her eyes shut. When she opened them, everything was grey. Everything except a huge yellow triangle sprawled across her line of sight.

“Hi, **Pine Tree**!”

Mabel jumped to her feet, pulling her blanket around her shoulders and staring up at Bill Cipher. “What — what do you want?”

Bill shrugged his stick-like arms. “I felt **bad** about our **last** meeting. I wanna **make** it **up** to you.”

“Last time we met you dangled hope in front of me and pulled it away at the last second,” Mabel said. “And the time before that you tried to hurt my brother.”

“Your **brother**.” Bill floated over to her, getting smaller as he came, and sat on the balcony. “You two don’t fight **often** , **do** you? What an **interesting** situation you’re in **now**.”

“What do you know about that?” Mabel asked cautiously.

“Oh, I know **lots** of things,” said Bill. “But watching **you** and your **brother** is the best **entertainment** I’ve had in **decades**.”

Mabel stared at him.

“It’s **true**. Not much to **see** in this town.”

“Then why do you stick around?”

Bill didn’t answer. “Dipper sure has a **mean** streak, **doesn’t** he? **Humiliating** you like that over **asking** for his **help**.”

“He does that sometimes,” Mabel said, feeling oddly defensive for her brother. “Look, I don’t need your help. J-just leave me alone.” She shivered.

“But I **owe** you one for **last** time.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Mabel muttered. “Just leave me alone. You don’t actually want to help me.”

“I **don’t**?” Bill asked in mock surprise. “ **Oh** , but **Pine Tree**. **I** know the **password**.”

“You do?” It sounded too eager, and she hated it.

“ **Yep!** It’s just another **piece** in my **vast stores** of **knowledge**.”

“Okay,” Mabel said. “Then tell me the password and then I’ll consider us even.”

Bill drooped a little and sighed. His sigh sounded like wind through a thousand leaves. “ **Unfortunately** , I can’t **help** all that much without making a **deal**.”

The warning bells went off then. “No. The only reason I thought about it last time was because I was desperate. It’s a good thing Ford came, or — ” She frowned. “Did you run away because of Ford?”

“I can’t talk to you **long** unless you make a **deal** with me, **kid**. Are you **in**?”

“What’s my side of the deal?” Mabel said.

Bill shrugged again. “ **I’ll** tell you the **password** , and **you** do a little **favor** for me **later**.”

 _Favor._ Mabel thought of Dipper. What would Dipper say if he was out here?

Probably that she should’ve just gone to sleep. Well, you were right, Dipper. You happy?

“ **Think** about it,” Bill said, reaching an arm towards her. She shied away. “You’re trying to **help** Ford. You just want to be **useful** for once, don’t you?”

Mabel didn’t answer.

“But **imagine** Fordsie’s **face** when you **solve** the **password** for him. Won’t he be so **proud**?”

“I don’t think Ford would want me to talk to you. Especially if you really did run away from him.”

Bill lit up, about to say something, but Mabel cut him off. “No,” she said. “You’re bad news. I’ll figure out the password on my own.”

Bill opened his eye wide. “ **Wow**. You’re awfully **persistent** , **Pine Tree**. How **long** d’you think you can **keep** that **up**?”

“As long as I need to,” Mabel said defiantly. “I don’t need help cheating.”

“ **Cheating**? **Pine Tree** , I’m trying to save you **hours** of work here.”

She wanted it. She wanted it so bad. Wasn’t it worth it?

But every time she thought of her hand touching his, she felt utterly nauseated. She had to trust her feelings.

“No. I’m not making a deal with you. Just go away.”

Bill blinked slowly. “ **Fine**.” He floated up into the air. “ **But** if you ever change your **mind** , I’ll be **ready** and **waiting**.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“ **Sure** , **kid**. Good **luck** with the **laptop**!”

Bill snapped his fingers, and the world went white again. Mabel’s eyes felt ready to burst in her skull.

Then she bolted upright.

She sat there, breathing heavily and feeling disoriented. She had just been standing a moment ago, but now she was huddled up on the ground again, the laptop open in front of her. A dream. It had all been a dream.

She looked up at the moon. It shone down on her like nothing had ever happened.

“Okay, yeah,” she said, closing the laptop. “I’m going to bed.”

She tried to ignore her swirling thoughts as she snuck back into the Mystery Museum. She was proud of herself for resisting, but also sickened. Did she really just turn down a chance at finding out the password? Bill could’ve been lying, but. . . what if he wasn’t? What if he really did want to help her?

But there was no way to know. And Mabel couldn’t be responsible for messing everything up. That might just be even worse than being useless.

She tiptoed into her room and slid the laptop carefully under the bed. Dipper was still breathing evenly. He had no idea what had just happened.

Should she tell him?

Immediately her fears rushed into focus. He’d get worried and overprotective. He’d hide the laptop. He’d tell Ford that she’d talked to Bill — that she’d almost made a deal with him not once, but twice. That she considered it. That she was weak.

Mabel swayed a little on her feet. Never mind. She’d decide later. She’d do it all later.

She collapsed into bed and curled up under the blankets, feeling more discouraged than ever.


	6. Chapter 6

Melody kept the twins busy with chores the next day. It was slave labor: restocking shelves, hanging up signs, and cleaning. _So much cleaning_.

Mabel was convinced Melody was trying to fill up all their time to prevent them from working on the laptop — or going in to see Ford, who was essentially in quarantine. Dipper told her she was being paranoid.

Around noon, they were able to break for lunch. Melody handed them delicious avocado tuna sandwiches with a smile and a pat at the head.

“She’s deviously evil,” Mabel said, taking an angry bite of her sandwich and scowling at Melody’s retreating form.

“Oh come on, Mabel, Melody needs the extra help with Ford being so sick.”

Mabel viciously tore another bite out of her sandwich. It tasted heavenly.

“Besides,” Dipper continued, “weren’t you just going to wait until rehearsal tonight, anyway? So Melody won’t see?”

“She never comes up to our room,” Mabel grumbled.

“Yeah, but she asks about you when you disappear for too long.”

Mabel kept taking big bites of her sandwich and didn’t respond.

Finally, it was evening, and they were released. Mabel and Dipper scarfed down dinner and then ran upstairs to get ready.

Dipper rifled through his dresser. “Gabby says that techies wear all black, but since I’m a spotlighter I won’t be seen and it doesn’t really matter. Should I wear it anyway? To look the part?” He took out a long-sleeved black shirt and held it up to one of his blue tees.

On the other side of the room, Mabel was busy wrapping the laptop and Journal in blankets and shopping bags. Just in case.

Melody grabbed them to kiss them on the cheek before they left, but thankfully didn’t say anything about Mabel’s bundle. The twins, who were slightly late, bustled out the door and into the cold and hurried to the theater.

The large double doors were unlocked. Voices carried to them as soon as they pulled them open.

“ — And I don’t know why that fly was late but I don’t want it to happen again. Who’s in charge of it?”

“That’s Mr. Bartosic, the director,” Dipper said in a loud whisper. “We’d better sneak in.”

They crept through the empty lobby. Mabel stared around at the ornate chandeliers and the slightly-peeling wallpaper.

“Woah,” she said. “This place is definitely haunted.”

They passed through another set of double doors, this time leading to the stage.

“Who’s in charge of Fly Thirteen during — oh, good, there you are. What happened?”

A tall man with a full blonde beard was standing in front of a line of people, all sitting on the edge of the stage, dressed in dresses and bloomers and corsets. The man stared expectantly at a woman in front of him, who looked calmly back.

“Sorry,” the woman said. “I don’t think I can make it work with my costume change. Maybe if someone was helping me, but even then. . . .”

“There’s Gabby.” Dipper pointed. Mabel followed his finger. Abigail sat almost directly in the center of the group. “C’mon.”

“Dipper wait, I don’t want to disrupt — ”

“Oh good, spotlighter, you’re here.” Too late. The director had noticed them. “Who’s this?”

“Hi, Mr. Bartosic!” Dipper said. “Sorry I’m late. This is my sister Mabel. She’s just hanging out with me.”

Mr. Bartosic’s eyes narrowed, and Mabel squirmed under his gaze.

“I hope she’s not here to try to get a free show.”

“N-no,” Mabel stammered. “I just need a place to, um. . . study.”

“Study?” Gabby called. “It’s winter break!”

Mabel shrugged helplessly.

“Well, welcome,” Mr. Bartosic said, though he didn’t sound too cheerful about it. “Just make sure not to distract my actors or anything.”

“N-no sir.”

Mabel hurried after Dipper to take a place on the stage. He wormed his way in next to Gabby. Mabel sat decidedly behind him.

“Alright, where was I.” Mr. Bartosic squinted down at a notebook in his hands. “’Downstage. . . table. . .’ what does this even. . . ? Oh! Right! Tambry, where’s Tambry . . . Tambry! You need to be downstage of the table when you’re talking to Meg, not upstage.”

Mabel looked over in mild surprise to see Tambry, one of Robbie’s friends, sitting on the left of the stage. Robbie was next to her, and he caught Mabel’s eyes and waved. Mabel smiled shyly back.

“O-oh, okay,” Tambry said.

“You’re doing great,” Mr. Bartosic said, flashing her a quick smile before turning to the next victim. Mabel wondered when she could get away.

“Spotlighter!” He zeroed in on Dipper. “What’s your name again?”

“Dipper Pines.”

Mr. Bartosic paused. “That’s a good name. Well, I know it was your first night last night, but your reaction time to the call was slow. Keep getting familiar with the cues so you can be up to speed, alright?”

“Will do!” Dipper said happily.

Mr. Bartosic looked down at his notes and then back up. “Meg? Where is Meg?”

Gabby raised her hand.

“ _Where is Meg?_ Meg!”

It took five people pointing and Gabby saying, “Right here!” before he noticed her. “Oh. There you are.”

The cast laughed.

Mabel waited until the director was done talking to Gabby before leaning forward and tapping her on the shoulder. Gabby turned.

“Hey,” Mabel whispered, “is there a quiet place I can go to study once you guys get started?”

“Oh, I dunno. The green room, maybe?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where the actors hang out while they wait for their turn onstage.”

Well that sounded terrible. Mabel did say _quiet_ , didn’t she?

“Um, is there, um, anywhere else? Empty?”

“You there, Pine Tree, please keep it quiet while I give notes.”

Mabel nearly jumped out of her skin. She stared up in Mr. Bartosic in panic as she scrambled back, her lungs constricting.

Mr. Bartosic frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Mabel?” Dipper touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“P-Pine Tree,” she stammered. “Why’d you call me Pine Tree?”

Mr. Bartosic blinked. “Your t-shirt. I just forgot your name, and it’s on your t-shirt.”

Mabel looked down at it. Then back up at him.

Then she became very aware of everyone staring at her.

Her cheeks flushed bright red. “Oh. R-right. S-s-sorry.”

She sat back and stared down at her lap, her face burning with humiliation.

Dipper scooted back until he was next to her. “Mabel,” he whispered, as quietly as he could. “What was that?”

“That’s what Bill calls me, remember?” she whispered back. “Pine Tree?”

Dipper frowned. “Yeah. . . that one time in Robbie’s mind. I didn’t remember before now, though.”

Oh dang. Dipper didn’t know about her other encounters with Bill.

“I just, um, it was a weird thing to call me.

“Yeah, I guess. . . but why did you freak out?”

Mr. Bartosic was eying them again. “Later,” Mabel said, hoping Dipper would forget about it.

Time crawled on until finally Mr. Bartosic was finished with notes. “Alright, that’s all. Finish getting set for tonight’s run, everyone. Places in fifteen!”

“Thank you, fifteen!” the cast chorused. They all jumped down from the stage and headed out of the theater.

“Mabel?”

She looked up.

Gabby smiled tentatively. “I think I might have a place for you to study.”

“Oh. Right. Thanks. Um, see you, Dipper. Good luck.”

“Uh-uh,” Dipper said. “In theater we say _break a leg_.” He looked at Gabby with a smooth smile.

“You’re catching on!” she said with a laugh.

“Break a leg, then,” Mabel said, rolling her eyes and suppressing a smile.

She stood up and followed Gabby up the stage and into the wings.

“There’s this room under the stage,” Gabby said as she led Mabel down a dark hallway littered with the occasional night-light plugged in at the base of the wall. “It’s connected to the pit. There are a lot of instruments and stuff in it, but we don’t have a live orchestra for this show, so nobody is ever down there.” She pulled open a door that Mabel couldn’t see. “If you’re quiet enough that Bartosic can’t hear you, I’m sure you’re fine to use it. Careful on the stairs there.”

They crept down a narrow staircase in the dark. Mabel held the bundled-up laptop close to her chest and mentally reviewed the steps for dealing with ghosts.

Suddenly Gabby flipped on a light. A dim yellow lightbulb flickered to life and illuminated a bare patch of floor surrounded by shadowy pianos and drums and music stands. A small window at the top of the wall added a weak natural glow as it filtered the last rays of the sun into the room. Mabel’s stomach flipped as she noticed a triangle pattern in the glass.

“What do you think?” Gabby asked.

Mabel swallowed. “Perfect.” It wasn’t — it looked like a great place for ghosts to hang out — but it was probably the best she’d get.

“You’ll probably hear the music and stuff from the stage, but it should be muffled. We wouldn’t want you getting a sneak peek of the show.” Gabby grinned.

“Yeah. . . what was that about?”

“Willy is great, really. Mr. Bartosic, I mean. His first name is William.”

William. Triangle windows. Pine Tree. Mabel shivered.

“But he has this thing about people who aren’t in the cast or crew seeing the show early. No free sneak peeks, not for anybody. It’s really one of the only things he’s rigid about.” She paused. “Mabel?”

Mabel had been staring up at the window. “Right. Okay. Thanks. And thanks for showing me this place. I just — I have to follow Dipper to rehearsals, and I wanna be productive while I’m here, you know?”

Gabby shrugged. “I think studying during break is crazy, but hey, you do you.”

Mabel gave her a shy smile.

“Well, I better finish getting ready. Don’t die down here, alright?”

“Okay.”

Gabby ascended the stairs, and Mabel grimaced after her. _Don’t die_. Thanks. She could only hope the ghosts in this place were nice.

She waited until Gabby was long gone before taking a deep breath. “Alright, ghosts. And Bill, if you’re there and all these coincidences aren’t just coincidences. I hope you don’t mind me coming down here. I need to, uh, be down here for a couple days, maybe a couple weeks, I don’t know. If you don’t want me down here, please let me know and I’ll leave, but please don’t, um, haunt me or anything. I’ll be polite.”

 No response. Mabel waited for a few minutes for an instrument to chime or some unnatural wind to pick up or something. Nothing.

“O-okay. I’m gonna stay here, then, and work on stuff. Thanks.”

She set down her bundle and sat on the floor. Halfway through unwrapping the laptop, she paused.

“And Bill, leave me alone. I already said no.”

She extracted the laptop out of its blanket, stared at it for a moment, and sighed.

“Here we go,” she muttered.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the week was stop-and-go traffic. Mabel would work at the Museum during the day, moaning at each new chore and obsessing over possible password ideas while cleaning off displays of fake monsters. Then she and Dipper would be off to rehearsal, the laptop tucked safely in its blankets (there was no _way_ she was leaving it at the theater), and she’d spend the rest of the evening frantically typing in passwords. Then they’d go home, and she’d wait until Dipper was asleep before sneaking the laptop out, muffling the speakers with thick towels, and keep going.

And going. And going.

Finally she’d stop, fall asleep, and dream of triangles and _BZZT!_ sounds. More than once was she awoken by dreams about Bill. He never said anything — she could never be sure if it was him or just her memories of him. But he was always there, a simple yellow triangle in her periphery. She stayed awake for longer each night.

She grew more and more tired as the week went on, and Dipper kept giving her suspicious looks whenever she yawned. But she didn’t care. She couldn’t stop, not when she was close.

On Friday night, the laptop started locking her out.

The first time it happened, she went into utter panic. She was trying the names of every townsperson she knew when the password box disappeared and the entire screen flashed red.

**TOO MANY FAILED ATTEMPTS: RETRY IN 1:00.**

Mabel let out a little scream and pulled at her hair as she watched the timer tick down the seconds at a maddeningly slow pace.

**0:20.**

**0:14.**

**0:07.**

Finally, the laptop let her keep trying. Mabel shakily typed in more passwords, trying to shake the terrifying thought out of her head:

She only had so many tries left.

That night, she got irritated easily, and snapped at Dipper when she thought he was taking too long saying good night to Gabby. When they got home, Mabel could hardly wait to keep trying. A part of her was convinced that if she was fast — if she figured out the password as soon as possible — then it wouldn’t matter how many attempts she used in the process. She was running out of time.

Saturday dawn rolled around, late in the winter morning, and Mabel wasn’t awake to see it. She’d fallen asleep on the floor, still in her clothes, her head and arms propped up on the bed after shoving the laptop under it. Last night, she’d fallen asleep at the keyboard three times before finally giving up.

“Um, Mabes?”

Mabel shot awake, a line of drool flinging into the air. “Wha — what time — ”

“It’s almost nine. I have my all-day rehearsal in fifteen minutes, remember? Do you think you wanna, um, stay at home? And get some sleep?”

Mabel blinked rapidly. “N-no. All-day is perfect. That’s plenty of time. Let’s go.”

Dipper folded his arms. “Mabel, did you stay up all night on the laptop?”

“So what if I did?” she shot back. “You can’t control me.”

He sighed. “I think you should get some sleep. What if you get sick, like Ford?”

“I won’t!” she said in a tone of utmost offense. “I’m not an old man, Dipper.”

Everything he said was an attack. Everything she had was focused on the laptop.

They started getting ready in stony silence. Mabel grabbed her sketchbook from the bedside table and put it in her usual bundle. She’d been getting locked out of the laptop for longer and longer, and she figured she could draw while she waited during those times.

As soon as they got to the theater, she headed down into the basement without wishing Dipper luck. Then she plopped down on the concrete floor and got to work.

She pulled out the laptop and her sketchbook — and then froze. The Journal wasn’t there.

She sighed. She must’ve left it at home. Fine. She’d basically exhausted everything in it, anyway. She could just continue her letter combination sequence. Now, was she at **A-A-A-A-B-C-R-T**? Or was it **A-A-A-A-B-D-R-T**?

She started typing

It was the first time she’d been in the basement room during the day. The window with the triangle patterns let the sunlight in, and it danced cheerily in the metal of the surrounding instruments. Mabel found herself refreshed by it and attacked her project with new energy, pausing only when her hunger and need to use the bathroom was so great that she ventured into the world above. She found Dipper, who gave her some pizza Mr. Bartosic had bought for the cast, ate, did her business, and went to disappear into the basement again.

She hurried as fast as she could down the halls on a winding path that involved bumping into walls a lot. She stopped, leaning against a doorjamb, yawning hugely.

“Woah! Bag check for Mabel’s eyes.”

It was Robbie. It took her eyes a moment to focus on him. “Hi, Robbie,” she murmured. “I’ve gotta. . .”

He blinked. “Gotta what?” he asked when she didn’t finish. “Everything okay, Mabel? You look really tired.”

“I’m fine.” She yawned again, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, there was a hazy yellow triangle floating around Robbie’s head.

Mabel let out a little yell of shock and jumped back.

“Mabes?” Robbie looked really concerned now.

Bill had been in Robbie’s mind before, but Robbie didn’t remember. That’s why the triangle was there, Mabel told herself. You’re just remembering. Just hallucinations from a tired mind. She had to crack the password before she fell apart.

“Watch out for yellow triangles,” she told Robbie. “In your dreams. Don’t approach them.”

“Mabel. . . maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. Then she hurried past him before he could say anything else.

She made it back to the basement with no other incident save for almost tripping and falling down the stairs. When she sat back down in front of the laptop, she felt grounded again. The world stopped spinning. Mabel got back to work.

It took only three tries before the laptop locked her out again. This time for half an hour.

Mabel stared at it for three seconds before sitting back and letting out a frustrated scream. Then she slapped her hand over her mouth and hoped nobody had heard her.

Half an hour. . . maybe she could take a cat nap? That would do her some good. But then what if she didn’t wake up? If she let herself sleep, she could very well waste hours upon hours of time.

She yawned and pulled out her sketchbook. She’d just draw for a while. She put a pencil to paper —

But the only thing she could think to draw were triangles.

“No!” she whisper-shouted. “I don’t want your help! I’m going to figure it out on my own!”

She put her sketchbook firmly on the floor and blinked back frustrated tears. Fine. Fine. She took off her sweater and bunched it up as a pillow. She’d just lie down for a moment while she waited. She didn’t have to sleep, but maybe she could close her eyes. . .

She was awoken half an hour by the _BZZT!_ sound as the laptop went back to the password screen. She felt even more tired than before, but she forced herself to sit up and keep going.

The light from the window was late-afternoon orange, and the excess of warm light gave Mabel a headache. Or maybe the laptop screen was the culprit. Either way, her head was hurting.

She feverishly typed in password after password, abandoning any pattern and just stabbing at eight random letters.

**G-R-E-G-J-R-D-H.**

_BZZT!_

**S-F-J-K-S-E-K-F.**

_BZZT!_

**W-I-J-O-I-H-G-O.**

_BZZT!_

Mabel moaned and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she saw yellow triangles everywhere.

In the shadows. In the triangle instruments on the walls. In the rim patterns of the drums. In the window. They all pulsed with a yellow glow as they drifted across the room and came together in front of Mabel’s eyes. Soon enough, the tiny triangles were all a part of one big triangle.

And with a flash, that triangle became Bill.

Mabel opened her mouth to yell at him, but he cut her off. “ **Pine Tree!** Thank **goodness**.”

“Wh-what?”

“I need your **help**. There are **ghosts** here.”

“W-well of course there are.”

He floated closer to her. “ **Please!** You have to **save** me.”

“Save you? From the ghosts?”

“They’re **everywhere**. You’re **good** with **ghosts** , aren’t you? I mean, if you got **me** out of **Robbie’s** head, I’m **sure** you can take care of **these** ghosts.”

Mabel folded her arms. “You need _my_ help? I thought you were a big bad dream demon who could take care of himself.”

“Please, **Pine Tree**. Only **you** can help me. There’s this **one** particularly **nasty** ghost — there’s **no** way to get **rid** of it without **your** help.”

“I. . . I am pretty great at dealing with ghosts, I guess.” It felt good to hear it from someone as powerful as Bill. “But I’m busy. As you can see.” She started typing in another password to prove her point.

“I’m **sure** you could use a **break** , **couldn’t** you?” Bill asked. “To help out a **friend**?”

“You’re not my friend.”

“I **could** be.”

Mabel ignored him, typing in another password.

**D-U-M-B-B-I-L-L.**

_BZZT!_

Mabel sighed.

 _BZZT!_ went the laptop again. Mabel looked down at the screen.

**TOO MANY FAILED ATTEMPTS: INITIATE DATE ERASE IN 5:00.**

**ONE ENTRY REMAINING.**

This time, Mabel didn’t care who heard her scream.

“No no no no!” She shook the laptop back and forth. “No — please — don’t do this — ”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she continued shaking the laptop as if that would change anything. “NO!”

“ **Calm down, Pine Tree!** ” Bill floated even closer. “ **I’ll** help. Just agree to help **me** with the **ghost** , and I’ll tell **you** the **password**.”

Mabel looked up at him in panic. “I-I — I shouldn’t — ”

“I’m your only **shot** , **Pine Tree**! **Imagine** Ford’s **disappointment** when you have to tell him you **erased everything** on the laptop. This **laptop** is your **only chance**.”

“B-but — ”

Bill reached out his hand. “I **just** need your help getting rid of a **ghost**. **Easy**. A small price to **pay** in order to make Ford **proud** of you.”

Mabel hesitated, her eyes flicking between the laptop screen — **2:36** — and Bill’s outstretched hand.

Bill’s hand lit up with blue fire. “ **Success** and Ford’s **approval** , or **failure** and Ford’s **hatred**. **What’ll it be, kid?** ”

“FINE!” Mabel grabbed Bill’s hand.

The blue fire spread from Bill’s hand to hers. It was cold. A shiver went through Mabel’s entire body.

The laptop stopped beeping. The timer froze. Mabel breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Help me with the **ghost** ,” Bill said, “and **then** I’ll tell you the password.”

“Fine,” Mabel said. “So where’s this big, scary ghost, anyway?”

She tried to pull her hand away from Bill’s. He kept it in his firm grip.

Suddenly something felt very, very wrong. “B-Bill? Wh-where’s the ghost?”

In that moment, she could’ve sworn Bill was smiling. He stared at her with his wide, wide eye.

 **“It’s _right here_ ,” **he said.

Then he yanked on her hand.

The world went white, and Mabel was falling. Careening down into nothingness, flipping end-over-end as the world turned upside-down and inside-out and topsy-turvy. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, could only feel her body being torn apart and thrown away and slammed into invisible walls. She screamed, but heard no sound.

Then she heard something: a huge tearing sound that reverberated around her skull and made it completely unable to think. The sound — it was so _awful_  —

And then it was over. Her vision cleared. She was back in the basement room beneath the stage.

Except now, she was looking down at herself from above.

“Wh-what — !”

She stared down at the Mabel on the ground, laying there lifeless on the floor. She didn’t understand. Was it another clone? The shapeshifter? Was she asleep? Why was she floating?

She looked down at herself and screamed.

Her body was transparent.

“What — what’s happening — ” She tried to touch herself. Her hands went right through her stomach. “What’s — what did you do to my body?!”

There was no response.

“Bill?” Her voice became hysterical. “Bill! Bill, where are you? What happened to me?!”

The Mabel on the ground stirred. Stirred, and sat up. Sat up, and opened her eyes.

Opened her yellow, glowing, slitted eyes.

**“Tough luck, kid! The ghost was _you_!”**

It was Bill’s voice. Bill’s voice, coming from Mabel’s body. Bill’s eyes, set into Mabel’s face.

Mabel screamed.

Bill-Mabel waited patiently until she ran out of breath. “You **finished** , **Pine Tree**? I’m **ready** to tell you the **password** now.”

Mabel couldn’t think — she couldn’t _breathe_ —

Bill-Mabel picked up the laptop and smashed it onto the floor.

“ _No!_ ” Mabel screeched, diving out of the air for the laptop. But her hands passed through it. She could only watch in horror as Bill-Mabel stomped on it, threw it against the wall, laughed and laughed and laughed.

Only when the laptop was completely and utterly destroyed did Bill-Mabel look up at Mabel and smile sweetly. “The **password** was **Crescent**.”

Mabel felt dizzy. Her mind was clogged with panic. She couldn’t think at all. There was nothing there — nothing but the fear. Nothing but the horror. Nothing but the panic.

“Oh **man** ,” Bill-Mabel said, stumbling around the room. “Oh **man** , it’s been **so long** since I’ve inhabited a **body**.” He — she? It? — checked his reflection in a nearby piano. “My **eyes** sure look **good** on you, **Pine Tree**. **Two** eyes, too! This thing’s **deluxe**!” He poked and prodded at Mabel’s face, slapping at it and laughing. “ **Pain** is **hilarious**!”

Mabel felt sick.

Bill-Mabel whirled around. “ **Babel**. Call me **Babel**. Has a nice **ring** to it, **doesn’t** it?” He beamed up at Mabel.

“I-I don’t understand!” Mabel stammered. “Why are you doing this?”

Babel laughed. “Why do you **think**? I **can’t** have you **continue** on your little **quest** with Ford. Destroying the **laptop** was **easy**. **Now** I just have to get my hands on your **Journal**!”

He ran back and forth around the room, banging into instruments and sending music stands crashing to the floor. “ **Plus** ,” he said, “it’s **fun**!” He threw a trumpet on the floor at laughed at the crash. “ **Look**! I can **move** things!”

“Y-you can’t have my Journal!” Mabel yelled. “It’s Ford’s! You’ll never find it!”

Babel turned to her and cocked his head. “ **Find** it? If I **recall** , you **left** it at the **Museum** this morning. It’s not **hidden** anywhere.”

Mabel started to retort, but Babel cut her off by banging on piano keys. With Mabel’s head.

Mabel was about to yell at him to stop when she realized someone would hear them. Someone would come down and see Babel with his weird eyes and put a stop to this. So she closed her eyes, sent out her hopes, and waited.

Babel banged on the keys for a while, then started smashing Mabel’s arm with the piano lid. “ **Boy** , these arms are **durable**!” When he got bored with that, he threw more instruments on the floor, punched through some drums, and, finally, smashed the window with a triangle, laughing as the glass shards rained down around him.

With each crash, Mabel felt a little more weak.

Finally, _finally_ , someone came stomping down the stairs. “Pines! What on earth are you doing down here!”

It was Mr. Bartosic. Mabel’s hopes fell a little — she’d been hoping for Dipper or Robbie. But she had to try anyway.

“Mr. Bartosic!” she yelled. “Please, help! That’s not me! I’m right here!”

He gave no sign that he heard her.

“ **Sorry** ,” Babel said. “Am I **not** supposed to **be** down here?”

“You’re not supposed to be interrupting the show!” Mr. Bartosic fumed. “We can hear your racket throughout the entire theater!”

Mabel gaped. He wasn’t reacting to Babel’s eyes or voice at all.

“ **Sorry** ,” Babel repeated. “I’ll **leave**. I have to go **home** , anyway.”

“Clean up this mess first,” Mr. Bartosic ordered. “I want you out of my theater in ten minutes.” He turned and stormed back up the stairs.

“ **Whelp** ,” Babel said, gathering the remains of the laptop and Mabel’s sketchbook and shoving them in the shopping bags, “I’d best be **headed** to the **Museum**! **See** ya **later**!”

“No!” Mabel shouted. “No! I’ll stop you! I’ll — I’ll get there first, and I’ll find the Journal, and I’ll stop you!”

Babel paused with one foot on the stairs. He turned around slowly.

“ **You** saw that guy. He had **no** idea **anything** was **different**.”

“H-he just doesn’t know me that well!”

Babel shook his head. “ **Sorry** , kid. You’re basically a **ghost** now. **No** one will see you. So I **ask** you.” His wide grin split Mabel’s face. “ **How** can you **stop** me. . . if you **don’t exist**?”

And with that, Babel ran up the stairs, laughing uproariously.

And all Mabel could do was stare after him in horror.


	8. Chapter 8

Gideon was pretty sure his life was about to come to a premature end.

He ran down the halls of Order headquarters, the memory of his father’s ringing voice hot on his heels. He’d be quite clear — Gaston Northwest always was. If Gideon didn’t go apologize to Blind Lincoln for his repeated absences _right now_ , Gideon would _sincerely regret it_.

So Gideon went. Fast.

He’d been neglectful. He’d been careless. He’d been so wrapped up in searching the forest for Pacifica, for the first Journal, that he’d neglected his duties at the Order. And if he didn’t make it right, he was going to pay.

He hurried towards Blind Lincoln’s office. He’d nearly reached it, he only had one more corner to turn.

“Bill? Bill, where are you?”

Gideon skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with the far wall. Was that. . . ? _No_. . .

“Bill?” the voice called again. Either Gideon was hallucinating, or. . .

Or Pacifica had been down here the _entire time_.

She turned the corner and met his eyes. “Oh, hello, Gideon,” she said calmly. “Have you seen Bill?”

His chest filled with some kind of emotion. He wanted to do something — to hug her, or something else crazy — but he could only stand there and stare at her. “Pacifica! You’re — you’re here!”

She blinked. “Yes. I’m here.”

She looked different. More innocent, less complex. She wore a simple purple dress, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her wide eyes were missing something, some sort of spark that had been a part of what made her Pacifica.

“Do you know where Bill is?” she asked.

Bill. Bill? “No. . . I haven’t seen Bill for a while.” Thank goodness. Gideon took a step closer to her. “Pacifica — what are you doing down here? Are you. . . are you alright?”

“Fine. Mostly. When Bill is here. I can’t find him.”

“Why would you want to?”

Pacifica’s eyes widened as if he had said something highly offensive. “Why would I — are you joking?”

 _There_ was a little bit of the old Pacifica. A little bit of emotion.

“Bill is the only thing that keeps me sane,” Pacifica said seriously.

Gideon choked back a laugh. “ _Keeps_ you sane?”

“Yes, that’s what I said. It’s boring down here. He talks to me. And. . . and he keeps _her_ away.”

It didn’t take Gideon long to figure out who she meant. “Mabel’s not down here, Pacifica.”

Pacifica smiled at him as if he were a stupid child. “That’s what she wants you to think.”

His happiness at finding her was starting to wane. Immediately she wanted to jump down her rabbit hole of crazy with him. He decided to change the subject. “Pacifica, why are you in Order headquarters? Where are your parents?”

“My parents?” She frowned slightly. “They’re around here somewhere. They don’t remember me, I don’t think.”

Gideon stared at her. “Don’t remember you?” But. . . but he hadn’t. . . he hadn’t wiped their memories. He hadn’t seen them since Pacifica had disappeared.

“Yeah. I’ve seen them a couple times. They seem happier now.”

Gideon filed this disturbing news away to be dealt with later. “Do _you_ remember everything?”

She tilted her head. “As far as I know. I guess I wouldn’t know if I didn’t. But I don’t think Blind Lincoln would do that to me.”

Blind Lincoln. . . Blind Lincoln! “Oh — Pacifica, is Blind Lincoln in his office? I need to — ”

“Northwest!”

Gideon and Pacifica whirled around. Blind Lincoln stood in the hall, looking between the two of them in shock. There was silence as his expression slowly hardened.

Then he cursed under his breath. It sounded something like “scrabdoodle.”

“Blind Lincoln,” said Pacifica, “have you seen Bill?”

Lincoln glanced at her. “No.” Back at Gideon. “I see you’ve found her.”

“Was she hidden?” Gideon did his best to keep the defiance out of his voice, but it still leaked through.

Blind Lincoln’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes. And I expect you to keep quiet about this.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling anyone. I was just looking for my friend.”

Blind Lincoln studied his face for a moment, then chuckled quietly. “Is that why you’ve been missing so many of your duties?”

Gideon looked down. “Yes.” His apology. He couldn’t be defiant — he had to apologize. He took a deep breath and looked back up into Blind Lincoln’s face. “I’m sorry I’ve been absent. It won’t happen again.”

The lines of Blind Lincoln’s face softened slightly. “You are forgiven.”

Great. He could go back and tell his father. He could leave.

Instead, he kept gazing up at Blind Lincoln. “Sir, if I may ask. . . why is Pacifica here? And why couldn’t I know where she was?”

Blind Lincoln took a long, slow breath. “I don’t know if I’m at liberty to say.”

Of course. Blind Lincoln wasn’t _really_ in charge here. Gideon turned to Pacifica. “Why would Bill keep you from me?”

“I don’t know,” Pacifica said. “I just know I need to find him soon. Are you sure you two don’t know where he is?”

“No,” said Gideon and Blind Lincoln in the same tone of exasperation.

“Pacifica, why don’t you go back to your room,” Blind Lincoln said, looking at Gideon. “When Bill comes back, I’m sure he’ll appear to you.”

Gideon wanted to watch Pacifica leave, but he didn’t dare break Blind Lincoln’s gaze. So all he saw was a flash of purple in his periphery as she turned and walked away.

“You were really worried about her, weren’t you?” Blind Lincoln asked softly.

“Yes,” Gideon replied, equally soft.

There was a silence.

“Thank you for the apology.” Blind Lincoln turned away.

“Sir — ”

He turned.

Gideon took a quick breath. “Pacifica said her parents don’t remember her. But how could they forget her if I wasn’t here to wipe their memories?”

Blind Lincoln’s face went stony. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but hard. “Go home, young Northwest.”

Gideon bit his tongue. He knew when not to push it.

Blind Lincoln left.

Gideon immediately searched the halls for another glimpse of Pacifica, but she was gone. Where were her rooms? Why was she here? What was she doing with the Order, of all things?

Why wasn’t he allowed to know?

He shook his head and turned to head back home. There, Father. I did as you asked. And who could’ve known, the one person I was looking for was here the whole time.

How funny.

But if anyone had seen Gideon’s drawn face and hard eyes just then, they wouldn’t have thought anything was funny in the least.


	9. Chapter 9

_Panic later_.

Mabel had no idea how long she floated there in the theater basement, staring at the concrete floor and wondering vaguely how a ghost could feel so out of breath. A ghost. She was a ghost now. Bill was in her body. Bill had destroyed the laptop, he was going to destroy the Journal, this was all _her fault_ —

_Panic. Later._

It was a tiny voice in the back of her head, but she grabbed onto it like a lifeline and pulled. _Panic later. Think now. Panic later. Think now._

She closed her eyes and pushed it all away, pushed the boulder of her emotions to the corners of her brain. She could feel it all later, once she fixed this. She had to fix this.

“Okay, Mabel. You’re a ghost. You’ve studied ghosts. What can ghosts do?”

They could float around. They could move through walls. They could go wherever they needed to, and no one could see them. But they couldn’t communicate with anyone. Anyone except —

Suddenly Mabel knew what to do.

She took a deep breath — seriously, how did ghosts breathe? Was she just imagining it? — and shot upwards through the ceiling. She only had to imagine herself moving, and then she was moving, flying up through the pipes and foamy insulation and not touching any of them. Then she was through the floor, and the stage lights bombarded her with their bright beams. She twisted and looked back. No shadow. The lights went right through her.

This was kinda cool.

Focus, Mabel. She couldn’t see any other ghosts from here, but she couldn’t see much else through these lights. The stage was nearly empty, but Mabel’s heart sped up as Tambry, the lone actress onstage, came twirling towards her. Mabel swerved, but Tambry’s outstretched arm passed through Mabel’s abdomen, sending a shudder through Mabel’s ghostly body.

Mabel flew upwards again, escaping into the catwalks, where the stage lights didn’t reach. She navigated between pieces of the set that hung from their ropes, waiting to be called down onto the stage. And she called out to anyone who could hear her.

“Hello? Hello! I need help! Are there any ghosts that can hear me? I — I’ve been kicked out of my body, I’ve been possessed! Please help!”

She shouted her message as she flew through the theater, peering into nooks and crannies that she thought ghosts might inhabit. For a moment, she worried that ghosts actually _couldn’t_ see one another, but her brain immediately reminded her of the Legend of the Lovers — two ghosts haunting an abandoned roller rink who were stopped by someone helping them find each other. Ghosts seemed mostly solitary, but surely someone would come to her aid?

“Please, I need help from a ghost! Please come out!”

“Quiet down, child, you’ll wake the entire theater.”

Mabel froze when she heard the voice. It was coming from the wings.

She flew towards it. “Hello?” she called, a little quieter. Then she saw her: a semitransparent ghost, glowing softly, floating next to the fly ropes.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mabel said, flying up to the ghost. “Can you help me?”

The ghost frowned slightly. “I don’t recognize you.”

“N-no, I’m a human. I mean — I’m alive — I mean — sorry! I didn’t mean — I — I’ve been possessed. Someone else is in my body a-and I don’t know how to get him out.”

Now the ghost was looking at her in alarm. “Possessed? Who possessed you?”

“B-Bill Cipher.”

The air around them suddenly got colder as the ghost’s glow dimmed. “Cipher,” she whispered. “I knew I felt him around here. I didn’t want to believe it, but. . . where is he now?”

“I-in my body — of course — I mean, he’s heading back to my home, the Mystery Museum. He’s probably left the theater by now. He’s going to ruin everything — I — I need some way to stop him. To communicate with people. To get my body back.”

“Slow down,” the ghost said. “I don’t know how to get your body back. Human bodies are usually too strong for direct possession.”

“Direct possession?”

“Forcing your spirit into a living thing and forcing its spirit out. It often works on small animals. How did Cipher possess you?”

“H-he tricked me into making a deal with him,” Mabel said. “Couldn’t I take my body back from him, though, since it’s my body? Won’t it recognize me? I-I study ghosts, and I thought — ”

“With Cipher, no. He’s too powerful. And I don’t know much about his deals, but I believe they make his possession very hard to break. No, I don’t know how to retrieve your body, but I do know how you can communicate with the outside world.”

“You do? What is it?”

“See that girl?”

Mabel followed the ghost’s pointing finger to Gabby, who was on the stage singing with Tambry. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Her house is right next to the theater. She has a parakeet, a little blue thing. Probably small enough that you can directly possess it. If you can do that, you’ll be able to both fly and speak.”

Mabel’s eyes widened. “That’s right! Parakeets can talk! That’s perfect!”

The ghost pointed in the opposite direction of the stage. “The house is that way. Good luck.”

“Th-thank you!” Mabel stammered. “Thank you so, so much!” She started flying away and was halfway through the ropes before something occurred to her. “W-wait. What about the parakeet’s spirit? Will it be okay? Will I kill it?”

“It should be fine,” the ghost said. “It’ll drift aimlessly for a while, but once you leave its body, it will instinctively return to it. Don’t bother to apologize, though; it won’t understand you.”

“O-okay. Thanks!” And with that, Mabel zoomed away.

She flew through the walls of the theater until she emerged into open daylight. She quickly scanned the streets for Babel, but when she didn’t see him, she hurried into the house in front of her.

It took a few minutes of flying through the house before she found the parakeet. It sat in a gilded cage that hung in the window, the setting sun glinting off the bars. Mabel flew over to it and realized that she forgot to ask the ghost _how_ to possess the bird. But she didn’t have time to go back and ask — she had to just go for it.

She took a deep breath. “Sorry, little guy.” Then she focused, imagined her soul pushing out the bird’s, and slammed into the parakeet.

The world went topsy-turvy again, but not for as long. Even after Mabel came to, it took her a moment to orient herself — her vision was all wonky. Instead of one picture made by two eyes, she had two pictures, both close to each other but never overlapping. Mabel wasted a few seconds wondering what had happened before she realized —

Birds had eyes on either side of their heads.

She was a bird.

It worked!

She tried flapping her wings. It felt just like her dreams — just like in Robbie’s head, when she’d fought Bill with bird wings on her back. Well, she was going to fight him again. And she was going to _win_ again.

. . . If she could get out of this cage.

She flew to the bars, clinging onto them with her scaled feet. The bird’s body moved naturally. From her perch, she inspected the lock. Could she pry it open from the inside? It was a simple latch, but the bars were in the way.

She maneuvered her head until she could push up on the latch, then carefully stretched out a wing to push it over. The wing didn’t do much — she could only reach the latch with the tips of her wing feathers.

It was exhausting, and took seemingly forever, but she finally heard the metal bar click. The cage swung open. “Ha!” Mabel said.

She closed her mouth — her beak — immediately. The sound that had come out was very strange. In her head, it sounded like herself, like when you plug your ears and listen to yourself talk. But on the outside, with her ears, she heard the high-pitched squawking of a parakeet.

Well, at least you can talk now, she told herself. Now to find an open window and get out of this house.

Eventually, after finding nothing, she had to open a window by herself, which was even more exhausting (but less time-consuming) than opening the latch. Finally, she was back outside.

She didn’t know how much time she’d wasted since Babel left for the Mystery Museum, but she knew it was too much. She flew back to the theater and in through the smashed basement window. Her tiny stomach churned at the sight of the mess Babel had left, but she didn’t stop. She flew up the stairs, through the open door, and down the corridor. It was a miracle that she didn’t have to learn how to steer this thing.

She flew out onto the stage and shot towards the spotlight alcove across the room, hoping she was fast enough that nobody would notice her. From the scattered, startled yells, some people did.

She reached the spotlights and landed on a lopsided chandelier that balanced on a ledge. Her feathery body filled with relief as she caught sight of Dipper. He was carefully guiding the spotlight on the stage, his tongue protruding slightly, following Tambry and a masked actor as they sang a haunting song.

Mabel considered waiting until the song was over, but there wasn’t enough time. “Dipper!” she chirped. “Dipper!”

Dipper looked around wildly. “What? Who’s that?”

“Dipper! Over here!”

He kept glancing between the spots and the stage, but his eyes finally found her.

“Dipper, it’s me! Mabel!”

He froze. “ _Mabel?_ ”

“Yes!”

Dipper looked between the stage, the bird, the stage, the bird. Then he shook his head to himself, flipped off his spotlight, and took off his headset.

“I’m so going to get yelled at,” he muttered. But he did it anyway, and Mabel immediately felt bad for accusing him of not caring.

“Thank you, Dipper, I — ”

“What happened?” He knelt down so he was at eye level with her. “Why are you a bird? Did you get cursed by a wizard?”

“Much worse than that,” Mabel said. “It’s Bill. He tricked me, and now he’s in my body. He destroyed the laptop, and he’s on his way to the Museum to destroy the Journal, and we have to stop him before he — ”

“Wait, wait. Bill? _Possessed_ you?”

“Yes! And if we don’t hurry he’ll get the Journal and — ”

“The third Journal?”

“Yes,” Mabel said, exasperated.

“But it’s not at the Museum.”

She stopped. “Wait, what?”

Dipper looked chagrined. “I have it. I noticed that you forgot it, so I grabbed it, but. . . I didn’t want to give it to you. I guess I figured if you didn’t have it, you might get some sleep instead of working on the laptop.”

“I didn’t,” Mabel muttered.

“It’s up here.” He reached around the spotlight and rummaged around for a moment before straightening back out, the Journal in his arms. “I would’ve given it back if you asked for it, but — ”

“Oh my — thank goodness you took it,” Mabel said, blissfully relieved. “I thought Bill had it for sure. But — when he doesn’t find it back at the Museum — ”

“He’ll probably come looking for it here,” Dipper finished. Then he frowned. “Mabel, if Bill’s in your body. . . why are you a bird?”

“It’s Gabby’s. I, um. . . borrowed it.”

Dipper raised his eyebrows and smiled a little smile. “Well, your parakeet voice is adorable.”

“Dipper, focus! Bill?”

“Right. Sorry. But your voice is still adorable. So is Bill at the Museum yet? Do you think Ford or Melody will notice he’s in your body?”

“Bill didn’t seem to think so. Mr. Bartosic came down to yell at him and didn’t notice anything. But I hoped Melody or Ford would realize something was different.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think he’ll hurt them?”

“I doubt he’d be able to. He’s in your body, isn’t he? He can’t be stronger than you normally are. And Ford could take you, easy. Probably Melody too.”

“Thanks,” Mabel deadpanned. Or, tried to deadpan. Parakeet voices weren’t much for sarcasm.

“Sorry,” Dipper said. “But in this case, it gives us an advantage.”

There was a moment of silence in which they could hear squawking coming from Dipper’s discarded headset. Probably Mr. Bartosic, trying to find out why Dipper was no longer spotlighting the stage.

“How long do you think we have until he realizes where the Journal is?” Dipper asked.

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know how long it’s been since he left. But we have to take the Journal and get out of here, go hide it somewhere or something.”

“I don’t think we can get out of the theater without Mr. Bartosic stopping us. He probably wouldn’t let us go either. Plus, even if we do hide the Journal, how do we get your body back?”

“I don’t know,” Mabel repeated.

Dipper paused for a moment and looked her in the eyes. Or, well, in the one eye he could currently see. “Mabel. . . are you okay?”

Mabel took a sharp breath as her pent-up emotion lapped at the edges of her mind. “Don’t ask me that. Ask me that after we get my body back. Don’t ask me that yet.”

“Okay,” Dipper said softly. “So what are we going to do?”

“Hide the Journal and then go get Ford.”

“I don’t think we should hide it,” Dipper said. “I wanna keep it with me.”

“I dunno — ”

“C’mon. If Bill comes, I can take him. When haven’t I beat you in a wrestling match?”

“Never,” Mabel said. “We’re not allowed to wrestle.”

“Why not?” Dipper asked smugly.

“Because you always beat me.”

“Exactly.”

Mabel sighed. “Okay, we can keep the Journal with us. But we still have to get out of here and get Ford. I could fly out — ”

“We can’t separate. If Bill comes, you need to be here to take your body back.”

“Okay, fine, we’ll leave and if Mr. Bartosic tries to stop us we’ll tell him it’s a matter of life or death — ”

“Is it?”

“If Bill destroys the Journal we won’t be able to rescue Stanley!” Mabel shouted, her screechy voice rising in pitch. “And if we can’t rescue Stanley, he could die! So yes, it’s a matter of life or death!”

“Okay, okay, Mabel, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re right. We have to get out of here. So let’s just — ”

A loud clanging sound suddenly reverberated up into the spots.

“What was that?” Mabel asked.

“That’s just the stairs,” Dipper said. “There’s a metal spiral staircase leading up here. It just means that someone is — ”

He stopped. He and Mabel looked at each other in alarm.

“Coming up here,” Dipper finished in a whisper.

They both went quiet.

Distant, high-pitched laughter drifted through the air.

“ _I’m coming, **Shooting Star**.”_


	10. Chapter 10

Dipper’s world had turned over and fallen apart at the seams all in the span of thirty seconds. But if Mabel could be brave about it, then he could be too.

He clutched the Journal to his chest as he and Mabel listened to Bill make his way up the stairs. Each slow, deliberate step shook the air. Dipper’s mind raced with options, but there didn’t seem to be many. Jump down from the spots into the house and probably break his leg. Jump down from the stairs and probably break his leg. Fight Bill and probably break _Mabel’s_ leg. None of them sounded good.

Before Dipper’s mind could land on a good solution, Bill was at the top of the stairs.

Except it wasn’t Bill. It was Mabel. Mabel, dressed all in black, her hair loose from her headband and curling around her face and shoulders. Mabel, with slitted, bright yellow eyes.

“I’m **here**!” Bill-Mabel announced. It was Mabel’s voice — Mabel’s voice, but layered like Bill’s.

She — _he_ , this wasn’t Dipper’s sister, not really — stepped into the spotlight alcove and did a little twirl. “Do you like it? I wanted to dress the part. You know, of the backstage people. Plus, I think I look good in black, don’t you? It accents my **eyes**.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” said Mabel.

Bill-Mabel’s eyes saw her and lit up. “ **Pine Tree**! How clever of you! I love birds. It’s so easy to **snap** their **tiny** little **necks**.”

Dipper took a protective step in front of his sister.

Bill-Mabel laughed. “You’re so endearing, **Shooting Star**. It’s too bad you’re not **surprised** to see me, though. Little **Pine Tree** ruined it, didn’t she? Oh well. I do look like her, don’t I? Do you think you would’ve been fooled?”

“No,” Dipper said. “You’re not my sister. You’re Bill-Mabel.”

Dipper’s eyes narrowed. “MaBill.”

Bill-Mabel shrugged. “I prefer **Babel**.” He took a step forward. “Now, if you excuse me, you have something I **need**.”

Dipper hugged the Journal tighter.

Babel snapped his fingers. “Yes, that! Just give it here, I’ll destroy it, and then I’ll leave your sister’s body. How’s that for a **deal**?”

“No!” Mabel shouted.

Babel turned his creepy eyes to her. “Your voice is **adorable**.”

“That’s it!” Dipper set the Journal onto the ledge next to the chandelier and rushed for Babel. He grabbed his arms and slammed him against the wall, glaring straight into his yellow eyes. “ _Nobody_ calls my sister adorable but _me_.”

Babel laughed in his face. “Oh, yes! Oh, do it again, that was wonderful!”

“Dipper, he likes pain! D-don’t hurt me!”

Dipper’s heart sped up as he realized what he’d done. Everything he did to Babel. . . he was doing to Mabel’s body. He couldn’t hurt Bill without hurting Mabel.

Suddenly it was rather hard to breathe.

“Realized your **dilemma** yet?” Babel asked. He twisted and slipped out of Dipper’s grasp. Dipper lunged for him, but he danced away across the alcove. “Come get me, **Shooting Star**.”

Dipper saw red. He rushed forward.

Babel dodged him and ran past. By the time Dipper skidded to a stop and turned around, Babel was reaching for the Journal. Mabel hopped over it and reached for Babel’s hands with her beak. Babel laughed and turned away from the Journal, instead trying to grasp Mabel with his other hand. “C’mere, little **birdie**! Let me get my hands around that neck of yours!” Mabel flapped wildly away from him.

Dipper ran for the Journal and swiped it right before Babel could. “Mabel! Get out of here! He’ll kill you!”

Mabel fluttered up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. Dipper wasted a precious second watching her and nearly got the Journal taken right of his hands by Babel. He twisted away, his back to the chandelier.

“All I need is that book, kid. Are you really going to risk hurting your sister over it?”

Dipper glanced up towards Mabel, then back down at the Journal. He took a deep breath and gave the answer he knew Mabel would want him to give.

“Yes.”

Babel grinned. “So be it.”

He lunged forward. Dipper jumped back onto the chandelier, swinging around the column and balancing on the arms on the other side. It was the chandelier for a scene in the musical; Dipper was supposed to release it from the spots so it would swing down and crash into the stage.

And now, he realized with a sinking feeling, he was trapped on it.

If he slipped, he’d plummet down into the house. He couldn’t safely climb around it back into the alcove, or Babel would intercept him and take the Journal.

One look at Babel’s grinning face told Dipper he knew exactly what predicament they were in.

He started climbing slowly, ever so slowly, onto the chandelier. “Do you know,” he said conversationally, “why I chose the name Babel?”

Dipper didn’t answer. His mind raced for ideas.

“The ancients once tried to build a tower to **heaven** ,” Babel said. “The Tower of Babel, they called it.” His foot braced itself on the chandelier. “They were so certain it would work.” His hand gripped a candle-holder. “But the higher they got. . .” He pulled himself up. “The more **unstable** the tower became.”

His weight shifted onto the chandelier, and the entire structure shook.

“And the more unstable the tower got. . .” Babel opened his wide, yellow eyes and smiled at Dipper. “The easier it was for the **devil**. . .”

He reached up and grabbed the rope that held up the chandelier.

 “To **drag them down**.”

Babel pulled.

And the chandelier fell.

Dipper only had a second to yell in surprise, a second to grip the column with as much strength as he had, before they crashed into the stage. Dipper’s bones rattled as they hit, and for a moment he couldn’t feel anything at all. Then his hand slipped, and he fell from the chandelier and onto the set piece they’d smashed.

Babel was laughing. That was all Dipper could hear. He struggled to his feet, pushed back the pain, focused only on the Journal in his arms and the demon in his way.

Babel rushed him.

Dipper ran. He ran in circles around the stage, dodging surprised actors who scrambled off the stage as soon as Babel started shoving them roughly to the ground.

“Dipper! _Dipper!_ ” Mabel’s high parakeet voice carried to him. He had no idea where she was. He was just running. “Dipper! I’m tired!”

What?

“My body! _My body is tired!_ ”

And then he understood.

And he ran faster.

He skidded around a post and ran up the stairs on the set. “Gee, Bill!” he shouted. “Aren’t you getting tired down there?”

Babel ran up the stairs after him. “What are you talking about?” he said with a laugh. “I’m a being of **pure energy**! I never get tired!”

Dipper jumped from the set right as Babel reached him, landed on his feet, and kept running. “But you’re not pure energy anymore!”

Babel followed Dipper’s actions, wobbling on his feet as he landed.

“You’re in my sister’s body now!” Dipper yelled. “And she’s uncoordinated! She can’t run for very long, either! And you know what else?”

Babel let out a high-pitched scream and pushed over a backdrop. Dipper leapt out of the way right before it landed on him and scrambled on top of it so he could see Babel.

“She hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest for almost a week! It’s a miracle you haven’t keeled over yet!”

“Ha!” Babel started to climb up after Dipper. “My powers of the mind will always prevail over these weak **fleshbags**!”

Dipper yawned hugely.

Babel blinked. “What — ”

Then he yawned too.

“Ha!” Dipper mimicked. He scoffed down at Babel. “Do you really think you can defeat my sister’s physical weakness?”

Babel growled and climbed faster. His foot slipped on a shard of Styrofoam.

Dipper ran up the slope of the backdrop and jumped up onto the set. He shoved the backdrop away, and it fell, taking a chunk of stair banister with it. Babel fell back onto the stage.

“For a mind demon, you’re pretty dumb!” Dipper shouted down at him. “Possessing my sister? It might be your mind, but it’s her body! And she’s _exhausted!_ ”

He could see Babel shaking from up here. It seemed to be working.

“You insolent little — you’re getting it now!”

“Am I?” Dipper taunted. “I bet you can’t even make it up the stairs!”

Babel shrieked in rage and ran for him. He didn’t even make it onto the first stair, however — he ran into the banister.

“ **Agh**! That wasn’t right there a second ago!”

“Your vision is going! You’re shutting down!” Dipper yawned again, for effect.

Babel slumped down onto the stage. “No — no! Get **up** , you useless meat sticks!” But every time he tried to stand, he wobbled and fell down. His eyes drooped.

**“ _No!_ ”**

Dipper left the Journal on the set and ran down the stairs, standing over Babel. Babel kicked at him, but could do nothing to stop Dipper from pinning him down onto the stage.

“You’re so tired, aren’t you?” Dipper asked in a syrupy voice. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just give up?”

“No!” Babel tried to spit in Dipper’s face, but only managed to get drool on his chin. “No! You’ll **never** get rid of me!”

“You mean,” Dipper said in mock surprise, “that if you fall asleep, you have to leave my sister’s body? Oh boy — ” He yawned again. “ — you better not fall asleep, then.”

Babel yawned. “N-no — **so**. . . tired. . .”

Dipper put his face right up next to Babel’s and stared into his half-shut eyes. “Now,” he said firmly. “Get out.”

With a final jerk, Babel lost consciousness.

Dipper waited a full two seconds to make sure he was really unconscious before scrambling away and yelling, “Mabel, _now!_ ”

He couldn’t see her, but he thought he felt a rush of air right before her body jerked again. Dipper stared down with bated breath as her eyes fluttered open.

They were brown.

“ _Mabel!_ ” Tears came to his eyes, and he threw his arms around her.

She coughed. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

He jumped away. “Sorry! I — do you want — ”

She feebly reached out a hand, and he took it, helping her into a sitting position.

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” she mumbled.

“No, Mabel, stay with me. Stay awake. You can do it. I didn’t mean all those things I said to Bill, I was just trying to goad him, you’re strong, stay with me.”

Mabel laughed, but it came out as a cough. She leaned against Dipper and closed her eyes.

“Stay awake,” Dipper pleaded.

“I will,” she murmured.

He held her close as a tear ran down his cheek and into her hair.

“ _PINES!_ ”

Dipper and Mabel both jumped, making Mabel wince in pain. Dipper looked through the fourth wall and out into the audience, where he’d forgotten any other world existed.

William Bartosic was shaking with fury. The actors around him were staring at the stage in horrified shock. There was a dreary silence as Dipper slowly looked around the stage and realized what he and Babel had done.

The stage was in ruins.

The chandelier had broken apart on impact with the set, which wouldn’t have been there if Dipper had dropped the chandelier at the right time. The Styrofoam backdrop was cracked and jagged. Chunks of broken stair banister littered the stage.

“Dipper?”

Her voice was small, but Dipper recognized it immediately, and his heart fell to his shoes. Gabby. She was standing at the front of the house, staring up at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

Mabel pointed a limp finger at Gabby. “Your bird,” she said. “Her bird. I left it. . . I left it in the second row.”

Her voice was so quiet that Dipper barely made it out. “Okay,” he said. He helped Mabel lean against the stair banister, got to his feet, took a deep breath, and addressed the crowd.

“I am — _so_ — sorry. I’ll find some way to fix this, I promise. But my sister needs medical attention as soon as possible and I have to help her. Robbie?”

“Right here,” came his voice. Dipper couldn’t see him through the stage lights.

“Do you have your truck? We need to get Mabel to Ford right now.”

Robbie came running up onto the stage. “Yeah, I have my truck.” He crossed over to Mabel. “What happened?” He was pale, and his voice shook.

“It’s a long story. Can you carry her?”

Robbie bent down and lifted Mabel carefully into his arms.

“Ow,” she mumbled. “I think my everything is broken.”

Dipper climbed up onto the set, grabbed the Journal, and then ran down into the audience as Robbie followed slowly. He maneuvered past a shell-shocked Mr. Bartosic and dove into the second row of seats, finding the parakeet and scooping it into his free hand right as its eyes fluttered open.

Its eyes were yellow.

“You should’ve just let me **destroy** the **Journal** , **Shooting Star** ,” Bill said through the parakeet. “The **pain** you and your sister went through today is **miniscule** compared to what will come if you **continue** on your **path**.”

Dipper stared evenly at the possessed bird. He was so done with this.

He took a breath and smiled pleasantly. “Your voice is adorable.”

The bird’s eyes widened in anger, and it started tearing at Dipper’s finger with its beak. It hurt, but not enough to make him let go. Dipper laughed. “Give it up, Bill, you’re a parakeet. You can’t hurt me, and you can’t hurt my sister. Not anymore.”

The parakeet stopped pecking him. “You’ll **pay** for this.”

“You’ve already humiliated yourself. Just go home.”

Dipper didn’t know there could be murder in a small bird’s eyes before, but he saw it now.

“ **Fine**. Goodbye, **Shooting Star**. I’ll **see** you in your **dreams**.” It was obvious Bill was trying to sound menacing, but the bird’s voice was too adorable for it to really be scary.

The bird went limp in Dipper’s hand.

Dipper picked his way out of the chairs and over to Gabby, who was looking at him like he was crazy.

“Is that my bird?” she asked slowly. “Were you _talking_ to it?”

Dipper didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just held it out to her. “Here. Mabel had to — borrow it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

He made sure the bird was safely in Gabby’s hands before turning and sprinting after Robbie.

He stopped, though, at the door to the theater, and turned back. His heart seared with guilt as he saw the wrecked stage and the actors who stood and gaped at their ruined world.

But he couldn’t worry about that right now. Mabel was what mattered right now. Mabel was what had always mattered, even if Dipper couldn’t always see it.

He turned and went to his sister’s side.


	11. Chapter 11

Nobody said anything until they were on the road.

Dipper and Mabel were in the backseat of Robbie’s truck. Dipper had an arm around Mabel, who was fighting to keep her eyes open. Robbie, still pale-faced, pulled out of the theater parking lot and started towards the Museum.

“What. . . happened?” he asked quietly.

Dipper looked at Mabel. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

“Possessed,” she murmured. “I got. . . possessed.” That seemed to be all the strength she had to speak.

“Possessed? Like in horror movies?”

Dipper leaned his head against the back window. “Yes. She got possessed by a demon, who destroyed the laptop and tried to destroy the Journal. But it’s not her fault. He tricked her.”

“It — ” Mabel cut in. “It was my fault. I was. . . obsessed. . . I should’ve slept more. . . I shouldn’t have listened. . .”

Dipper shushed her gently. “It’s okay, Mabes, it’s not your fault. You’re okay. Just relax.”

“Are you sure she should be going to the Museum?” Robbie asked. “Shouldn’t we get her to a hospital?”

Dipper shook his head. “Ford. She needs to get to Ford. He might know something about possessions. If Mabel falls asleep. . . the demon might come back. We need to know she’s safe.”

They reached the Museum. Thank goodness this town was so small. Dipper helped Mabel back into Robbie’s arms, then ran inside.

“Ford! _Ford!_ ”

“Woah, Dipper.” Melody came around a corner, looking alarmed. “What is it? Why are you home early?”

“I need Ford.”

“Ford is still sick — ”

“I need Ford, _now!_ ” Dipper shouted. Then he swallowed back his outburst. “It’s Mabel. She’s hurt.”

Melody’s eyes widened, and she turned and ran to Ford’s room.

Minutes later — but still too long — Mabel was lying on the couch with Ford and Melody bending over her. Robbie and Dipper stood to the side, with Robbie massaging Dipper’s shoulders to keep him from running up and getting in the way.

“Nothing is broken,” Ford declared. “Just bruised. You’re going to be okay, Mabel.”

“C-can I sleep?” she whispered.

“Of course you can sleep.”

“N-no,” she said, shaking her head weakly. “Can I _sleep_?”

Ford frowned and looked at Dipper. “I don’t understand.”

“Bill,” Dipper blurted. “It was Bill. Bill Cipher. She got possessed by Bill Cipher.”

Ford’s entire body went rigid.

“What. . .” His voice was almost inaudible. “What did you say?”

“Bill Cipher,” Mabel repeated. “Do you. . . know him?”

Ford sat down hard on the couch next to Mabel and put a hand to his forehead. There was a long, long silence.

Finally, Ford whispered, “He’s back?”

“This is the second time we’ve met him,” Dipper said. “The first was in Robbie’s mind — ”

“Wait, what?” said Robbie.

“ — and then today, when he possessed Mabel.”

Mabel reached out her hand for Ford, but he was too far away from her. “Grunkle Ford. . .” A tear slid down her face. “Grunkle Ford, he destroyed the laptop. I’m sorry.”

More silence. It was suffocating.

“Grunkle Ford,” Mabel said again. He looked up from studying the carpet. “Grunkle Ford, can I sleep? Will. . . will Bill possess me again if I sleep?”

Dipper’s heart broke from the fear in her voice.

“How did you get him out in the first place?” Ford asked slowly.

“Mabel’s body was so tired that he fell asleep,” Dipper said. “He attacked me, and I tried to make him think of how tired it was, and he passed out. Then Mabel re-entered her body.”

“Can I sleep?” Mabel repeated.

“Y-yes,” Ford said. “You can sleep. Unless the deal you made said he could take over more than once.”

Mabel’s brow furrowed in drowsy concentration. “I don’t. . . think so. He said. . . he said he needed my help getting rid of a ghost. . . but he actually meant me.”

Ford nodded grimly. “He’s sly. He’ll catch you in a half-truth. But you should be safe. He can’t take over any more.”

Relief spread across Mabel’s face. “Thanks,” she whispered, closing her eyes. But they immediately flew open again, and distress contorted her features. “Wait — Ford — I — I ruined everything — ”

Ford leaned over and gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “No, no. It’s okay, Mabel. Bill can get to even the best of us. None of this is your fault. It’s okay. Just sleep. Sleep, and heal.”

Mabel grasped Ford’s wrist with her hand and, with a shuddering breath, closed her eyes.

They all waited until her breathing was deep and even. Then Ford carefully removed his hand from her grip and stood up.

“I need to think,” he said simply. “Melody, can you watch over her? Rest and recuperation is going to be the best thing. Her body just needs time.”

“S-sure thing, Mr. Pines,” Melody replied shakily.

“Thank you. Dipper, my Journal, please.”

Dipper handed it to him.

“I. . . I have to go.”

He left the living room and disappeared into the depths of the Mystery Museum.

Dipper, Melody, and Robbie all watched Mabel for a moment before Robbie finally broke the silence. “Dipper. . . what are we going to do about the set?”

Dipper winced. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to help fix it, but the show was supposed to open on Monday. . .”

“Not enough time,” Robbie said. “They’ll have to move it back.” He sighed. “I’ll go back to theater and help clean up. I’ll tell them you need to spend some time with Mabel, but that you’ll be back. . .”

“Soon,” Dipper finished. “I’ll come back soon. Like in an hour.”

“You sure?” Melody asked.

“I’m fine,” Dipper said. “Mabel’s the one that got hurt. And she’s asleep, so I can’t really help right now. I’ll join you soon, Robbie.”

“Okay.” Robbie shot a concerned look down at Mabel, rubbed at his arm, and then left.

Dipper sighed deeply and sat on the couch next to Mabel, where Ford had sat moments before. Melody put a hand on Dipper’s shoulder, and together the two of them breathed in and out, matching cadence with Mabel, following the rise and fall of her chest.

“I should’ve been a better brother,” Dipper whispered.

“What?” Melody asked.

“I shouldn’t have taken the spotlighting job. I should’ve just helped Mabel with the laptop. I told her I needed time to myself, I told her she was being selfish and obsessive, but _I_ was being selfish, I — I let her run herself to the ground, and then all this happened, and. . . I should’ve been there for her.”

Melody breathed out slowly as she knelt down next to Dipper, looking him in the eyes. He hesitated, but returned her gaze.

“You,” Melody said firmly, “are a good brother.”

Tears welled up in Dipper’s eyes. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice wet and cracked.

“Yes. I’m sure. You’ve done so much for Mabel this winter, and it’s no wonder you needed time to do what you wanted to do. You weren’t being selfish at all. No one should spend their entire life being there for someone else. I’ve had to learn that the hard way. You have to be there for yourself, too.”

Melody took his hand in hers. “And as for letting her hurt herself, Mabel is responsible for her own actions. She made some mistakes this week, it’s true. She did some things she shouldn’t have. She _was_ being selfish.”

Dipper opened his mouth to defend his sister.

“But.” Melody cut him off. “That’s okay. She’s still a good person. You still love her, don’t you?”

Dipper nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“We can still love someone and acknowledge their mistakes. And maybe you made some mistakes this week, too. But I don’t think so. I don’t think any of this is your fault.” She met his eyes again — they’d drifted back to Mabel — and smiled. “You did good, Dip.”

That was all Dipper needed to hear. He smiled back feebly through his tears, but he couldn’t see much. Melody drew his head to her chest and rocked him back and forth, back and forth, as he wetted her shirt with his tears. He didn’t sob, he wasn’t loud, but his breathing shook and wavered as he tried to get enough air into his lungs.

I’m a good brother, he repeated to himself. I’m a good brother. It’s okay if I’m not there all the time. I’m a good brother. Mabel’s going to be okay. I’m a good brother.

Finally, he drew back and wiped at his face, grimacing at the mucus that came away on his hand.

“I’ll get the tissues,” Melody said, getting up and crossing the room.

Once Dipper was all cleaned up and fed (Melody insisted on getting him a quick dinner before he left), he felt composed enough to go back to the theater. He would do his best to fix _that_ mistake, even if it wasn’t really his.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Melody asked as they stood by the front door.

“I think so,” Dipper said. “Although there may be a certain pretty girl who hates my guts now.”

Melody shrugged. “I think theatre people are pretty forgiving. Go find out.”

He nodded. “You’ll keep Mabel safe?”

“Definitely. No demon is getting past me.”

Dipper believed her.

He pulled the door open, but didn’t step outside just yet. Instead, he took a sweeping glance across the Mystery Museum, his eyes landing on the form of his still-sleeping sister.

He had needed this week for himself. But he also needed to be around family. The Mystery Museum was his home.

Mabel was his home.

And so it was hard to leave for the theater. But it was okay, too.

Dipper knew he would always come back home.


	12. Chapter 12

Blind Lincoln had always found it fascinating how human eyes adjusted to darkness.

He lay there on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, which had a moment ago been pitch black. Now, however, he could pick out the textures and patterns in the wood. Turn off a light, and you were plunged into darkness, you were helpless. But not forever. Humans could learn.

Someone pounded on his door.

Lincoln sat up, his heart speeding up. Who would _dare_ disturb him so suddenly this late at night?

Never mind. He threw off the covers and stood up, slipping his robes over his head as the knocking grew louder and faster. Lincoln crossed to the door.

He turned the knob and yanked the door open, fully prepared to give this intruder the brunt of his fury.

But he instantly stopped himself when he saw who was at the door.

Pacifica Pleasure stood in the hall. Tears streamed down her smooth face.

Lincoln knelt down and put a hand on her shoulder. “Pacifica! What’s wrong?”

“Bill,” she choked out.

Lincoln’s expression hardened. He knew it. He knew this communication with Bill would lead to nothing good. Lifelong servant or not, if Bill harmed this poor girl —

“No,” Pacifica said, reading Lincoln’s face, “no, he didn’t do anything to me — he was trying — to _save_ me — ”

“What do you need saving from?” Lincoln asked gently.

“Mabel, of course!” Pacifica sobbed. She grabbed Lincoln’s robes in her fists and pushed them to her face, her shoulders heaving.

Lincoln sat there, completely at a loss.

After a minute, Pacifica pulled back and kept talking. Her voice shook. “He — he tried to kill her — he almost succeeded — but Dipper — ”

She couldn’t go on; she burst into tears again.

Lincoln fought with all his strength to be patient and wait for her to be ready to speak.

“Dipper stopped him,” Pacifica whispered. “Bill — Bill was going to save me — and Dipper — ”

She stared up at Blind Lincoln like she was waiting for him to say something.

Lincoln racked his brain. Dipper. . . Dipper was the one Pacifica was in love with, he believed. But she thought his sister Mabel had him under her spell. Yes, that was it.

“I. . .,” Lincoln began. “I’m sorry, Pacifica.”

It wasn’t enough, he knew.

“Bill possessed Mabel today,” Pacifica said, sniffling. “That’s why I couldn’t find him earlier. He was going to stop the Pines’ terrible plans and then get rid of Mabel for me. But he — he failed. And now he’s angry. So angry. . .”

“Did he do anything to you?” Blind Lincoln asked.

“N-no. But he sent me to get you. He — he wants to talk to you.”

Blind Lincoln bit his cheek. Of course he did. Somehow this would be Lincoln’s fault.

“Okay,” he said gently. “I’ll talk to him. But first, let me take me back to your room, alright?”

“N-no!” Pacifica cried out, clinging tighter to Lincoln’s robes. “No — Mabel’s there — she’s laughing at me — she’s going to hurt me — please, don’t make me go back, please, she’s too strong, even Bill can’t fight her off, please — ”

“Alright, alright,” Lincoln soothed. “You don’t have to go back. But where will you go?”

Her wide eyes looked up into his. “Maybe. . . could I stay with you?”

Lincoln frowned. “I only have one small cot.”

“I — I’ll sleep on the floor. Please.”

Lincoln’s lungs constricted. Pacifica was one who appreciated her comfort. If she was willing to sleep on the floor. . . she must be terrified.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll go get your blankets. Do you want to come with me?”

She shook her head.

Lincoln left her sitting on his bed and hurried down to her rooms, where he grabbed her blanket and pillow. His back hurt just thinking of her on the hard stone floor, so he made a detour to a small closet to grab another blanket to put underneath.

He returned to find that Pacifica had soaked his pillow in more tears. “S-sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” he said. He could just turn it over.

He got her settled on the floor. He could tell she was uncomfortable, but trying to hide it. It made him want to volunteer to give her the bed and sleep on the floor himself, but he knew his old bones would fare far worse on the floor than her young ones.

He bent over her, putting a hand on her forehead. “Is there anything else I can do?”

She shook her head. “Just. . . tell Bill I know he was trying his best.”

Lincoln had to keep himself from grimacing. He’d be telling Bill a lot of things, but that would not be one of them.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

Pacifica hesitated. “No,” she whispered. She reached up and took Lincoln’s hand in hers. “But thank you.”

He nodded and stood, feeling woefully incompetent.

“Lincoln?” Pacifica whispered as he turned away. He turned back.

“Do you think. . .” She swallowed. “Do you think Dipper h-hates me? The way Mabel does?”

How was he supposed to answer that? For all he knew, the answer could be yes.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t think either of them hate you,” he said. “Besides, didn’t you tell me that Dipper is nice to everyone?”

“Yes. . . but that doesn’t mean he _likes_ them. He could secretly hate them.”

“Maybe.” Lincoln sighed. “I’m sorry, Pacifica, I don’t know.” He paused, then knelt down next to her, ignoring his protesting bones. “But I do know,” he said, “that I want to help you. There has to be a way to get rid of this spirit who haunts you without killing the real Mabel.”

“I. . . I don’t think there is,” Pacifica said.

“I do,” Lincoln said. “And if there is, I’m going to help you find it. We’ll find it together. Alright?”

She stared at him for a moment. Then a small smile appeared on her face. “O-okay.”

“It’ll all be okay,” Lincoln said. “Now, try to get some sleep, alright?”

“Alright,” she whispered. “Stay with me?”

So Lincoln stayed there, kneeling next to Pacifica with a hand on her shoulder, until she was asleep. He listened to her final shuddering breath before her breathing steadied into unconsciousness. He felt her small shoulder rise and fall under his large hand.

And the entire time, he thought of how he could help her.

His thoughts were jumbled and tired, however, and he couldn’t make any sense of them. Everything was clouded over by his helpless pity for Pacifica and his shame at being unable to fix it.

Finally, he pulled himself away and crawled back into bed. He’d almost forgotten his summons to Bill. Ah, well. The demon had been waiting for thousands of years; surely he could wait another hour or so for Blind Lincoln to dream.

Before he fell asleep, however, he looked one more time at Pacifica, curled up on his floor. He could make her out in the darkness. His eyes had once again adjusted.

“I don’t know how to help you,” he whispered to her. “But I’ll try.”

He imagined that small smile of hers, and wished he could see it more often.

And even though she couldn’t hear him, in that moment, Blind Lincoln made Pacifica Pleasure a promise.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

~~~~~

Pacifica had been right. Bill was angry.

He made no pretense. As soon as Blind Lincoln entered REM sleep, Bill was there, red and fiery and sitting on a huge throne of broken, twisted metal.

“Subtle,” Lincoln said.

Bill’s fire flared. “ **Don’t** you **mock** me, **Blind Eye**. I’m in **no** mood to **play**.”

“No, apparently not. What did you do to Miss Pleasure?”

“ **That’s** what you’re concerned about?” Bill’s eye narrowed. “ **Nothing**. I did **nothing** to her. **She** got **herself** in this situation.”

“Maybe. But possessing a child, Bill? Isn’t that excessive? Do I have people I need to mind-wipe?”

Bill grew larger upon his throne, towering over Blind Lincoln, surrounded by angry red flames. **“You dare speak to me in that tone!”** he roared.

Instantly Blind Lincoln fell to his knees and bowed. “I. . . I apologize, Lord Cipher. I forgot my place.”

“ **Yes** , you **did**. Don’t **forget** , **I’m** the one with the **intelligence** here. I **would** have succeeded today, if not for a **slight** error in **planning**.”

“Of course, my lord,” Blind Lincoln said. He sat upright, but didn’t dare get to his feet yet. “Lord Cipher. . . were you really going to kill Mabel Pines?”

“ **What**? **No**. That’s just what **Crescent Moon** wanted to **hear**.”

“You wouldn’t kill Mabel because she’s on the Wheel,” Lincoln said.

“ **Yes**. How **clever** of you to **deduct** ,” Bill said sarcastically. Lincoln didn’t reply: Bill had confirmed something he’d be wondering for a while. “ **Now** , should we get to **business** , or do you want to keep **wasting my time** talking about my **Symbols**?”

“Apologies. What do you need from me, my lord?”

“I need you to **get out** of **town**.”

Lincoln blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Announce **Pacifica** as the new **leader-in-training**. Tell the people she’ll be **in charge** for a while. Then take a **trip**. Go see those **dwarves** about recreating that **gun** , maybe. **Whatever** you’d like. But I want you **out of the way** for a few weeks.”

Lincoln’s alarm was surpassed only by his confusion. “Why — ” He cleared his throat. “Lord Cipher, if I may ask, why do you make this order?”

“You **may not** ask.”

Perfect. Just perfect.

“My lord, I don’t believe Miss Pleasure is ready for — ”

“Pacifica is the person I **need** in **charge** at the moment. **Do not question me**.”

Blind Lincoln closed his eyes and took a slow, calming breath. He was digging his own grave, he knew. But. . . “The girl is deeply distressed after what happened today,” he said slowly, keeping a careful deference in his voice. “I believe she needs some time to. . . recover. I would also feel more at peace if I had some more time to train her.”

Bill’s glare was in no way amused.

“Could we make a deal?” Lincoln asked, trying not to sound desperate. “If Pacifica and I can have more time, I’ll. . .”

He trailed off as he realized there wasn’t much more he could offer. He had already given Bill his soul.

Bill stared Lincoln down in an uncomfortable silence. A silence in which Lincoln felt a stab of actual fear for the first time in years. The deal ploy may have been the wrong one.

“ **Fine** ,” Bill said finally. Lincoln held back a sigh of relief. “I’ll give you more **time** , but just **know** that I don’t have much **time** to **give**. This is a **high favor**.”

“Yes, my lord.” Lincoln touched his forehead to the floor again. “Thank you, my lord.”

“In **return** ,” Bill continued, “there can be **no hesitation**. When I appear and tell you to **leave** , I expect you to drop **everything** and **get out**. **Immediately**.”

“Yes, my lord.” It was safest to say this and nothing else.

“Your **obedience** is **severely lacking** these days, **Blind Eye**. Should you **mess up** this **simple** task, you will most **sincerely regret** it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Bill gazed down at him in silence again. Blind Lincoln waited for him to speak.

“Announce **Pacifica’s leadership** within the next **week**. After **that** , your **only** job is to **supervise** her until I direct **otherwise**.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Make sure the **entire** Order is there for the **announcements**. Including the **Northwests**. Make sure **everyone** knows to answer to **her**.”

Suddenly Lincoln remembered. “My lord. . . Gideon saw Pacifica today.”

“I **know** ,” Bill said wearily. “ **Crescent Moon** told me. Bring the **Northwests** to the meeting, and **make sure** they know where the new **authority** lies.”

“Yes, my lord.” Lincoln hesitated. “Lord Cipher, Pacifica isn’t taking over. . . permanently, is she?”

“ **Not yet**. Consider this a **test run** of sorts.”

Deal or no deal, Lincoln still didn’t like this. Not much at all. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

“You have some **life** let in you,” Bill continued, “but not for **long** , I don’t think. Getting Pacifica **ready** is **vital** at this **stage**.”

His eye pierced Lincoln’s soul. “You’ve gotten **complacent** , **Blind Eye**. The **time** has almost come for me to **win my freedom**. I need **better** from you if we’re going to **succeed**.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Some of Bill’s anger seemed to subside. “ **Good** ,” he repeated. “ **Sleep** now. Make your **announcement**. I’ll give you **further** instruction **then**.”

Blind Lincoln bowed again, touching his forehead to the ground, as Bill grew brighter and brighter and disappeared.

As soon as he was gone, Lincoln heaved a sigh of relief.

He only had a few moments of lucidity to think this through, he knew. This order was troubling. Lincoln didn’t think Pacifica was ready to lead the Order, especially with her bond to Bill that was so scarily close. But it seemed Bill was taking Lincoln out of the equation. Why? Why couldn’t Lincoln be here?

His awareness was fading. His mind begged him to let go and get lost in his dreams. His dreams, which were supposed to be his precious few moments of bliss. His dreams, which were invaded by the demon he called his master.

Lincoln lost awareness and slipped back into the ignorance of his dreams. It was an odd sensation.

It felt strangely similar to his eyes adjusting to the dark.


End file.
